The Nymph's Reply
by mCat2
Summary: Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts, much to Severus' chagrin (or is it?). *UPDATED* *Chappie 28 Up* *YAY! PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!*
1. Alumni's Requital

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and intend to pilfer nothing. JK Rowling and Warner Brothers own this franchise, I however, am temporarily borrowing it.   
  
  
Nightmare. Hell. Sheol. Whatever you wish to call it, dear reader, I am sure that this would fit my description perfectly. Their little droves and hordes are swarming around me, mashing into me, spreading far and wide their adolescent secretions.   
I looked at Albus in what I hoped was a plaintative way, mind you that plantative is not my specialty, but he only winked infuriatingly, tipping his noxious blue hat in my direction. I glared furiously at him, but this made his smile broader, wider, sunnier. Qualities, I am quite sure, would not become me.   
The Great Hall looks even more massive, the old sorting hat increasingly faded, sat atop the old, fragile bench, its wrinkles twisted and contorted into a sinster grimace. The children stood stiffly in front of it, looking very much like guilty convicts, awaiting their imminent execution. I supressed a grim smile as one of the girls burst into tears at the stress. Which reminded me, oddly enough, of Hermione Granger's testy time at Hogwarts.   
I frowned, preturbed and annoyed that such an invasion of my inner peace would be shattered. I pictured her as she way, standing here so many years ago, her clamorous hair and unfortuantely large teeth, trembling from head to toe. She, Potter and Weasley, the Dream Team, and at times, if she and Weasley weren't getting on, the Dynamic Duo. I snickered into my goblet, causing Hooch to look at me with more than friendly concern.   
I remembered, suddenly, that old Professor Vector had departed and a new teacher was to take his place. I wondered idly who it might be, as I picked at my food. Non nourishing fare, as I had feared. Far too starchy, and I glanced briefly over at a first year's overhanging rear end. When he turned, I nearly choked again. The child looked eerily, frighteningly like Neville Longbottom.   
The Headmaster looked down at me (his chair being conspicuously higher than the rest of the professor's) and followed my gaze. Ah yes, our own Trevor Longbottom, he said quietly, tucking a particularily vile piece of bean sprout into his napkin. Good gods, Albus, he didn't.....procreate?, I asked, shocked that Longbottom would have the wits to perform the most instinctual of functions. Albus nodded and gave me a stare far less mirthful than his first, For the boy's sake, give him a chance to prove himself before you unleash your wrath at his father upon his unfortunate head.   
But...he named his son after his toad, I sputtered, not knowing whether to be thoroughly amused or disturbed at this fact. Ah, well, our Neville never did have the most sound judgment, he said sagely. I nodded mutely, finding myself inconveniently tongue tied. I suspected this had to do with Albus and his limitless knowledge of wandless magic, but I said nothing.   
The Great Hall, when filled with children, is simultaneously invaded with the unsavoury sound of many hundreds of people sloppily eating. Slupring, gulping, spitting, swearing. It was enough to drive a recluse such as myself completely mad. I rubbed my temples, praying that this level of din would not be the norm for each meal. Hagrid glanced at me sympathetically, Bit o' the start o' the term jitters, there, eh Severus?. I nodded, hoping that I could somehow manage both a plaintative face, and spiteful glare in the same instant without looking foolish.   
He nodded appreciatively, Noise gets to be a bit o' a bother to me , too. Never gets used to the size of thise place. He took an enormous swig from his goblet, then gestured for me to look beneath the table. I saw, clasped in his impressively large hand, an equally impressive bottle of Firewhiskey. I was tempted to just wrench the thing from him and alleviate the stirrings of a migraine, but instead, my infrequently employed conscience reprimanded him. , I said quietly, seeing as Dumbledore was already battling away about his quidditch theories with Hooch, Hagrid, you can't bring that in here. Are you mad? I know that giants are not reputed to be of oggling intelligence, but surely even you must know.... He waved the comment away, choosing to disregard my rather hateful remark about his kind. Ah, well professor, I find myself all flustered, it bein' the first day an' all. I just thought a bit o' the old medicine would set me right, he rumbled. Hagrid, you've had enough medicine'. Put the bloody thing away before the students see you carrying on, I snapped, shoving his hand shut.   
His large eyes immediately welled with tears the size of spoon heads. Oh, you're right, professor. I'm bein' a bit of an oaf, is all. Just.....just that around this time I got me Norbert...and...then...I.....had to let him go!, he wailed, throwing up his napkin. He put his face in his hands, and I awkwardly sat there, not knowing exactly how to approach the subject of his unnatural attachment to the horrid, slimy thing.   
It then immediately occured to me that others might wonder the same of Albus' apparent liking of me. Norbert and I were no different; we have tendencies to breathe fire, are unpleasantly reptilian, have impenetrable hides and have the same amount of dislike aimed at us by our fellow kinds. Still, being likened to a dragon is better than toad, I thought, remembering Neville's unfortunate son.   
I also remembered that Lupin was set to finally, permanently accept the position of DADA. I stabbed my meat overzealously in rage. Suddeny, Albus tapped his glass and the hall fell silent. He rose to his feet, looking resplendent and gaudy in the same instance. His robes, bright enough to stunt my unaccustomed eyes, glowed and shivered with every move. His beard was even more magnificent, it being the closest shade to pure, unadultered silver I had ever seen. I was suddenly filled with an insane urge to go up and tug on it, much like a child at Christmast time, bouncing upon a Santa's knee. I felt like smacking my head against the table.   
He spoke at length, his eyes noncomitally browsing the tirades of students. Students, first years, welcome to Hogwarts (here is where the silence broken. Bloody children can't even let him finish before they started cheering like drunken merrymakers). Perhaps, for those who have not already heard the news, and those who are new, we have two new additions to our prestigious faculty. To permanently (and he emphasized this) fulfill the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts, is on of our own alumni, Professor Remus Lupin (to my disgust, a great and frenetic cheer rose from the insufferable Gryffindors). And to honor our brilliant, but sadly deceased Professor Vector, Ms. Hermione Granger.   
I quickly felt my world slipping out of focus. I gripped the table, hoping to gods that the name he had just uttered was somehow interchangeable with someone. Anyone! But, I saw her rise, a furious flush to her cheeks, and bow slightly, looking amazed at the ruckus her own house was causing. Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had been infected with this overeagerness.   
Hagrid was weeping again, and I was suddenly entrapped between a brutish, sobbing giant, and a slightly sadistic headmaster who would surely usher me into her all too revengeful arms. For a moment, I sympathised with Hagrid. I felt like weeping too.   
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sheol is Hebrew for hell. Nymph's Reply, very witty poem written as a reponse to a rather bland, archetypical pastoral poem written in the 1600's. 


	2. Oh, Behave

Oh, ain't it great, Professor?, roared Hagrid, somewhat tipsily, whalloping me so hard on the back I thought my brains were temporarily displaced, I keep tellin' everyone that Dumbledore is a great man. He brought my Mione back, and Remus too. It took more than a few minutes to recover from Hagrid's mammoth show of enthusiasm. I sat gasping, gripping the base of my goblet as tightly as I could without breaking my own fingers.   
The Gryfindor's were looking at me curiously, an insolent delight scrawled upon their faces. I scowled at them, crossing my arms defensively. Several looked away, unnerved, whilst another girl, curiously likened to Ron Weasley did not. , I began, politely waiting as he was still chattering to Hooch. I had always suspected him of having more than one set of ears, as he turned immediately towards me, but was still able to interject comments into Hooch's direction.   
Yes, Severus?, he asked, his eyes unusually bright. I surmised that it wasn't only Hagrid who had taken a fair amount of the Firewhiskey from the flask. That...child, sitting right there at the Gryfindor table. No, Headmaster, those are the Hufflepuffs....yes, yes, the one with the flaming hair, they wouldn't have anything to do with Ron Weasley?, I said tenatively. He nodded, clasping his hands round his protruding belly, looking all the more like a jolly Father Christmas Wizard. Ah yes, our favorite student (a dersive snort made by myself) did end up procreating' as you artfully put it. He, in fact, married Lavender Brown, after college. He graduated with top honors, he said pridefully glancing at the girl, whose face zoomed crimson when she caught his eye. He laughed, Well, at least the blush is hereditary.   
I hope to gods the foolishness isn't, I muttered quietly, forgetting that Dumbledore had unnaturally keen senses. He gave me another one of his hard stares, and said nothing. I stared into my place, suddenly finding the treacle tart fascinating.   
I rose from the table, pushing my chair away stiffly. Even from the little nourishment I had gleaned, I already felt more enlivened. Immediately, the rubbish disappeared from the plates, and the teachers stood up excitedly, clamoring to both Granger and Lupin. I turned away in disgust, wondering why any normal people would find a bushy haired misanthrope and a lycanthropic demon hunter so fascinating.   
I was just nearly ready to collapse into my bed, when I heared Albus' voice echo loudly and clearly, Surely, Professor Granger, you remember Professor Snape?. I cringed, feeling much the guilty criminal caught slinking away. With great fondness , she said in an oddly cold tone. She extended her hand, and I grasped it warily, detesting human contact for any great length of time.   
Mercifully, she felt the same about shaking my hand, for she dropped it quickly. I took time to glance at her, and found that she had muchly changed. Her hair, ungovernable as ever, was clasped to the back of her head. The fugitive strands had furrowed out, giving her an oddly appeasing look. Her light brown eyes were darkened with maturity, and time had given her an all over more pleasant appearance. Although the awkward adolescent would never quite be vanquished, it's most heinous traces were permamently erased.   
She was still nearly a head shorter than I, but for some reason I felt belittled under her stern gaze. Although, perhaps not severe enough to turn into another Minerva Mcgonagall, I suppose she still would have made a fine new librarian.   
She suddenly gave a loud cough, and I realised I had said nothing for about thirty seconds. Professor Granger, Headmaster, I said, especially mocking her new title, I'm so sorry to be deprived of your...pleasant company, but I'm afraid that I have an even more pressing matter to attend to: a new batch of Gryfindors.   
Her brown eyes narrowed a trifle, and she crossed her arms. Her lips were pursed annoyedly, and I was quite gratified that I had succeeded in disarming her. But only for a second.   
Ah, well Severus, I'll be sure to warn my own student body that the infamous potion masters's bite is far more lethal than his bark, she said calmly, a very, very faint smirk on her face. I suddenly felt my mirth drain out of me. Albus, to my extreme annoyance, was grinning, quite amused at this exchange. Well, children, I am utterly pleased the tone of normality has gone unaltered all these years. I find I must extract myself and discuss Remus' schedule, he excused himself.   
Granger and I were left glaring at each other, both eager to readily dismember the other. I do not appreciate my first name being used by way of insult, I said coldly, finding the cold tone that was so very effective when she was younger. It still worked. She looked flustered for a second, very much like the young girl I had tormented so mercilessly. But, she had obviously learned composure, Oh. I had never figured you one an advocate for an injured masculine ego, professor.   
I raised my eyebrows. Damned if this foolish woman wasn't getting the better of me. 


	3. The Laughing Cat

It had gotten quite cold uncharacteristically fast, and the dense stones that the castle were built from only made it colder. My own chambers, conveniently located behind an inconspicuous painting close to the Slytherin dormitory, were warmed by the fire thankfully pre lit by the houselves.   
Bullying comments.....unwitting victim....thing's can't change, I muttered angrily under my breath as I tugged off my robes, each insult punctuated by an article of clothing being angrily torn from my lean frame. The truth of the matter was I was infuriated that she was absolutely, staunchly correct. I hadn't changed, my sullenness, melancholia, uninhibited bouts of bad temperament aimed solely at cowering Hufflepuffs and overbearing Gryfindors. Even my hair remained the same for all these years, with only one slight streak of gray.   
For Merlin's sake, Gally, stop whining, I snapped angrily at my gray tabby, who was sinuously winding herself between my legs as a way of begging for food. She opened her mouth to yowl again, but I quickly accio-ed her milk tray and set it down for her to drink. She looked up at me once, in what was supposed to be a resentful manner, but the spots of milk dripping from her whiskers depleted the overall fierceness of her glare.   
Once she had drunk her fill, she immediately plunked herself down in the center of my most favorite armchair and fell asleep, happily kneading the velvet with her claws. I glared at her, but she was quite used to my bad night before- first-day-of-classes humor.   
, I said in her direction, pompously placing my feet near her nose as I took a seat in another chair, deprive me of the one bloody pleasure I'm allowed.   
I didn't bother trying to sleep anymore, after discovering it was quite a useless battle. I hadn't had a fitful sleep since after Potter's fourth year, when I was summoned back into Voldemort's minions.   
I padded back and forth my room, aimlessly browsing my impressive library for a book boring enough to induce sleep upon me. Potions didn't work anymore, and to my deep disappointment, neither did a tiresome book. I sighed, crawling into bed, between the sheets, beneath the green duvet.   
The morning dawned with a vengeance, and I climbed wearily out, wincing as my feet hit the cold stone floor. My bath was drawn for me, but as soon as I had eased myself in, I had to leap out again.  
Someone had poured a scented something into the water. I sniffed it warily, hoping it was not a poisonous surfactant that would begin eating away at my flesh. No, it was something far more hideous. Muggle. Bath. Oil. Lavender.  
Oh gods. I refused to go into class like this. It must have been charmed, for as soon as I attempted to rinse off in clean, cold water, the smell became stronger. In fact, Gally raised one sleepy eyebrow as I exited the bathroom, raising her snout furtively. If cats could laugh, and indeed I think they do, she must have been rollicking. She licked the corner of her mouth, then disinterestedly went back to sleep.   
I put on my thickest robes, wishing that for once, I had a scent of my own to douse myself with. I scowled into the mirror, but then gave up, looking defeated. Oh well, the only consolation I could offer myself was that there were new, malleable Gryfindors waiting for points to be deducted.   
As I exited quietly into the hallway, I noticed Granger exiting another painting. Then I saw a very, very complacent looking Remus Lupin climb out after her. I must have made a noise in shock, for she glanced at me and immediately colored the brightest crimson possible. She muttered something to Lupin, who walked away, down the hallway, his robes slung over his shoulder.   
I smirked at her, quite amused that the fastidious Granger would have already been so distracted from her teaching. I said nothing, only crossed my arms and smirked some more. She gave me an absolutely livid glare, but it did nothing to lower my smug look. If you've something to say, say it, she said, exasperated.   
I feigned surprise, Are you speaking to me, _Professor _ Granger? Why, I've no idea what you're talking about. In fact, the man you should be speaking like that to just walked down that corridor. Why don't you just go and trot after him, a happy little lapdog?. I did nothing to disguise my disgust at her, and she did nothing to defend herself.   
Suddenly, her face broke out in a suspiciously sunny smile as she took several deep breaths. My Severus, it does smell wonderful in here. An incomparably delightful change to the dank, greasy smell that seems to accompany a certain long haired fellow, she said. I narrowed my eyes, You mean to tell me that you purposely had the house elf put a charmed silly, olfactorily offensive woman's product into my bath?. She laughed, sounding disarmingly similar to a tinkling bell, Why, what makes you incredibly certain it was a houself?.   
I was now enraged. I had to bite back the urge to wrap my fingers around her long neck, and beat her senseless against the painting that guard her chambers. Was it not you, Professor Granger, who suggested, rather brilliantly, that we purposely avoid one another?, I asked, making my voice very, very quiet. She stopped smiling, Actually, yes it was. I apologize for ruining your day.   
Let it be no burden to your conscience, Professor. I'm sure my day would have been effectively ruined sooner or later, as your hair and teeth seem to always be in places they shouldn't. Such as my rooms!, I thundered the last bit, and she looked extremely frightened and guilty. She cowered into the painting, flattening herself against the wall.   
I stomped off, my robes billowing in their usually intimidating manner. As I rounded the corner, I caught sight of her blank face, chewing raggedly on her nails as she slumped to the floor.   
If I had been so sure that I had no sense of regret or conscience, I'm sure I would have felt it quite acutely then. Suddenly, my newly scented self seemed even more detestable and the childish Miss Granger did not.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Heehee. It's not what you think. About Remus and Hermione, I mean. If you want to know the real truth, you'll have to keep on reading!


	4. The Importance of Being Earnest

I had no idea how to reply to her, and was thankful that I felt a small tap on my shoulder. That is, I was thankful until I saw who it was. I turned around catiously, not wanting to be ambushed by more people who loathe me. Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to escape them.   
Remus Lupin stood there, wearing his very bland smile and ever mangy robes. Hullo, Severus, he said, offering his hand. In fact, his was the last that I ever wished to shake, but I took it anyway. His long, bony fingers were cold.   
From the look on Granger's face, I could tell she as relieved as I to not have to converse with one another. , she crowed, shoving me out of the way harder than was necessary. Her brown eyes were positively full of unsaid thank you's, and she wrapped him in a bone crushing hug.   
Lupin looked momentarily discomforted, but said nothing, only tactfully extracting himself from her maudlin embraces by a greeting, Hermione, how've you been? I hear the arithmaticy teacher requested you to be her successor?. She laughed softly, and I was surprised to hear that she did not sound like the fog horn I was expecting.   
They stood chattering to each other, as I skulked awkwardly away. Lupin's ever precarious health seemed stable, and his looks had vastly improved. His face was reasonably attractive, in a chisled sort of way, and his tousled hair was always very popular with women. His eyes kept glancing elsewhere besides Granger's mouth, but I said nothing.   
Albus had also been watching silently, though he was much more gratified than I. Ah, is it true what they say, Severus, that childhood rivalries never do go away?, he asked, his eyes undreadable beneath his spectacles. I haven't any idea what you're talking about, Albus, I said dismissively. Are you so greatly disappointed that another has claimed what you have seemed to have so desperately wanted before?, he asked again, an odd darkness in his voice. He was still watching them.   
I've long given up the dream of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, I said, rather bitterly. And it was true, every year, some cretin had thwarted my attempts for the position. I crossed my arms, and turned to my headmaster, glaring him full in the face. Not a flicker of surprise registered in his features, though his eyes seemed greatly amused.   
I wasn't necessarily speaking of the of the job, Severus, he said meaningfully, tugging at his beard. I raised my eyebrows in question, and he nodded quickly at Granger. Albus, if you honestly think..., I began, ready to scoff him. But, to my increasing annoyance, he was already gone.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Apologies for format. I know that it is difficult to read, but because I have a Mac, I don't know how to get it so I retain paragraphs and such.Thanks for those who reviwed, and also, the titles on the second chapter are meant to be different, but for some reason, it didn't result that way. For those who are interested, it was Sir Walter Raleigh who wrote The Nymph's Reply. 


	5. The Midas Touch

The after feast gathering did not end for several hours. Minerva wiped her suspiciously damp looking beady eyes with the table cloth when no one was looking, and Hagrid (who was roaring drunk, by now) attempted to stand atop a chair and sing an abominably dirty lyric. Instead, he got halfway through the lyric, whose lines he had tangled and effectively ruined, and the chair collapsed.   
Granger and Lupin immediately rushed over, such overly sincere concern writ upon their faces, that I supressed an urge to vomit into the Sorting Hat. Alright, alright, Hagrid, I heard Lupin say, cautiously avoiding Hagrid's bear hugs, I think you've had enough Firewhiskey. I think that..er..Professor Granger shall help escort you back to your house....no, no, don't worry, we're not taking you back because we hate you...oh, Hagrid, please don't start crying. Luping was looking quite desperate now, and both my amusement and patience were waning.  
For bloody Merlin's sake, I snapped, dumping a pitcher of ice cold water into Hagrid's face, pull yourself together. You are not supposed to get intoxicated the night before you commence teaching. Especially when your class concerns the care of particularily vile creatures. Hagrid immediately stopped snivelling, and rose unsteadily. Well, I s'pose you're right, professor...I think I'll be goin' back to me hut now, he said, his eyes lolling about his head. He proceeded to promptly walk directly into the stone wall.   
Er...Hagrid...I think maybe we should go back now, Granger said, rushing to prevent him from running straight into the huge hearth. I sniggered, but not as quietly as I thought. She turned to me, her eyes blazing and her fists clenched. Actually, Hagrid, I think Professor Snape has just suffered a bout of volunteerism and wishes to do it himself, she said in a very cool voice. I blanched, Don't be silly, Granger. I'll do no such thing.   
That would be professor to you, she snapped, and turned on her heel, leaving me to drill holes in her back with my glare.   
Hagrid, whose beard and clothes were still sopping wet from the water, looked at me with damp eyes, 'Yer too kind professor, too kind. An' Dumbledore is bein' a great man an' all, I told him.... I actually managed to silence him for a moment, until I realised that everyone else was staring at us. Hooch, with her unnevingly feline eyes and pug nose, Pomfrey hiding a chuckle or two behind her apron, Lupin, wearing a very entertained expression of his own, and Albus, whose eyes were so mirthful, I was surprised that tears of quieted weren't streaming from them.   
The giant rose again, and swayed. We ambled to the exit, Hagrid singing more horrendous songs, interspersed with bouts of crying. As we made our way down the path to his hut, Hagrid suddenly sobered, or so I thought. Professor Granger got mighty pretty, I reckon, he said thoughtfully, his eyes glinting in the same obnoxious way that Albus' did. She looks very much the same to me, I snapped, freezing beneath my robes. I saw yer tonight, the way you was lookin' at her, he said, before doubling over in laughter, an' I never woulda believed nobody if they told me our own Sevvie was goin' ta be smittten with Hermione. I scowled fiercely, before realising that he couldn't see me in the blackness. Did you call me Sevvie?, I asked darkly, hoping I sounded as offended as I felt. I saw his giant head nod in an oddly distorted profile. Or perhaps it was the absolutely hideous baclava he was wearing.   
Once Hagrid was safely contained, the door locking firmly behind him before his blasted dog could tackle me, I sighed. What was this, this sudden, ridiculous notion that I harbored anything but animosity for Hermione Granger? Granted that she had grown to be an attractive woman, that she had an intimidatingly fierce intellect, and also that her conversation skills had somewhat improved, and that she didn't run off and sulk in a corner whenever an insult was hurled at her.   
I am not in interested in her, I said harhsly, watching my misty breath form tendrils in the chilly air, damned what they all think. I stomped quite hard on the ground, in an effort to retrieve some of the feeling back into my feet. I should hope not, said a strangely muffled voice. I jumped two wandswidths in the air, the hair on my neck rising rapdily.   
A thickly scarved, jacketed, hatted and gloved Hermione Granger huffed after me. I was just coming to see that you've found your way, she said, impatiently tugging a scarf tassle out of her mouth. Her cheeks were blazing, and I had an odd feeling that it was nothing to do with the cold. I'm fine. I have been here longer than you, you know, I said in a tone more cool than the night air. She blinked very hard, and stared at the ground. I suddenly felt unreasonable, standing here, insulting her. After all, she had just waddled from the castle, to Hagrid's hut, to here in almost no time.   
Just seeing you were alright, she shrugged. Thank you, I said, my voice warming a bit. However, my physical temperature was not,I hope you are not so easily offended if I suddenly take flight. I fear for my health if I stand in the bloody cold another second. Or should I escort you back to the castle, seeing the delicate flower you are. Have I not paid my compliments, Professor Granger, to the quite stylish duvet you seem to be wearing?. She took a deep breath, and from the looks of it, was trying very hard to control her anger. I'm not a child anymore, Professor Snape. Your bullying comments don't affect me as they once did. Say what you must in order to make yourself feel any better, greater, smarter, but don't say it to me. There are things which I've been wanting to tell you ever since the first day of school, but I've refrained. I took this job as a means to make myself happy, not as a way for you to find a new, unwitting victim, she said, her voice and color rapidly rising.   
Professor Granger , I drawled, furiously wishing I could pull back the hat that was obstructing her eyes. No, don't. It would be better if we just didn't speak to each other. I had hopes that our relationship had progressed from that of when I was a child, but some things can't change, she said. I was taken quite aback, never had I ever expected such a concise and coherent statement from her. It gave me great insight into exactly how much she had changed.   
Good night Professor Snape, she said flatly, with nothing that hinted at either anger or resentment. I nodded curtly, but only out of tiredness and lack of imagination did I not have anything to say back to her.   
I watched her amble slowly up the hill, struggling with the meters and meters of things she was wearing. When I saw that Remus Lupin was waiting for her, glancing curiously in my direction, only then did all sorts of nasty comments rise to the tip of my tongue.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Hehehehe. Hoped you like that one. I am having enormous fun writing this, so please don't burst my bubble of happiness so soon. Anyway, if our dear sardonic Severus is going soft, immediately let me know.   



	6. Dog Eat Dog

I stormed into the Great Hall, making my effectively dark entrance. The gluttonous students, already chomping happily away on their bangers and mash, stared at me through greasy, dripping mouthfuls. An especially repulsive first year's potato bits tumbled out his slackened jaw. Three points from Gryfindor, Mr. Boskett. Do close your mouth when you're eating. Perhaps the rest of us wish to retain our appetites.  
He turned bright red and tried, unsuccessfully, to swing himself around so that his back would be facing me. Instead, he just managed to get himself jammed between the bench and table, and required assistance to ease his excessively large bottom out. All the Gryfindors stared at me, their round, accusatory eyes following my every move. Even Ron Weasley's daughter had her jaw squared defiantly at me, until I gave her my infamous glares. She reddened immediately, and ducked her head beneath the table.   
I heard another voice, just as nasty, taking points from another house. I was shocked, after all, I was the only professor antisocial enough to deduce points this early on in the year.  
Eight points from Slytherin, Sedakis. Don't let me catch you stealing another student's familiar again. It was the Hermione Granger I had never seen, her brown eyes hardened and steely, and her voice so commandeering, even I was forced to grant her some credit. , I said, striding over to her, what is the meaning of this? Why, exactly, are you taking points from my house, when I am clearly the only one with the privilege to do so?. She glared at me, Because you just never seem to take advantage of the opportunity, Professor Snape. I warned your students that I will not tolerate their bullying, insufferable ways. I smirked at her, crossing my arms, and tapping my foot. Are you waiting for something, Snape?, she said testily, raising an eyebrow, holding what appeared to be a bright blue ferret. Oh, are you finished? I was expecting more rubbish to fall out of the overly large mouth of yours, I said softly.   
She flushed and said nothing, shoving past me. I could not help noticing how very good the lavender smelled on her, especially when it wafted from her hair. The Slytherins stared hatefully at her retreating back, her mass of fluffy hair bouncing angrily with each punctuated step. Good gods, I can't believe that's the mudblood bitch we have to teach our maths.   
I suddenly realized where I was. Four points, Rilke. There will no insulting of teachers, I began, still seeing Granger make her way past the tables, up to Lupin, .   
The girl who made the comment stared at me, her dull eyes full of shock. I pressed my lips in a thin smile at her, I trust the rest of you can eat your meals in silence for once?. I had no idea what suddenly spurred my vindictive mood, even at my own house. I frowned at them once before walking towards the teachers table, still mulling the mystery.   
I didn't see Remus Lupin, who has an apparent ability to vanish and reappear in places where he is either extremely unwanted or he knows that his presence will create a nuisance. Unfortunately for myself, seeing him usually means both. I nearly knocked him over in a concerted effort to quickly make it to the teacher's table without seeing him or Granger along the way. He smiled very, very broadly, his white teeth glinting in the light.   
, he began, gripping my elbow very tightly and guiding me to a corner just left of the table. What the hell are you doing, Lupin? Detach yourself from me this instant, I hissed, furious that he should have the audacity to touch me without consent. Just a moment, old boy. There are matters we need to discuss, he said quietly. I stopped, . He gave me an exasperated and imploring look that told me he didn't want to talk to me any more than I wished to converse with him.   
For once, Severus, stop asking questions and just trust me. I snorted, I believe the last time I trusted you, it involved a homicidal willow tree and a brute of a dog. He glared at me, his light colored eyes narrowing, Listen, Severus, you know perfectly well that's not what I'm talking about.   
Than what exactly are we supposed to be discussing?, I asked, honestly confused. You saw me this morning, climb out after Hermione. I'm just making sure you're not jumping to any of the wrong conclusions..., he stated, staring at my face for some kind of inference to draw. I will make up my own mind about such matters, Remus, without your kind interruption, I said coldly. , he snapped, if you really want to draw it out, she was brewing a potion for me. It was now my turn to became incensed.   
I believe, after the last time I have checked, that I have indeed remained the potions master of this school. Although perhaps Miss Granger thinks that a few courses at the Oxford Wizardry School will qualify her, she is quite mistaken. If there is a potion you need, it is I you must speak to, not Professor Granger, I sneered. Lupin looked livid, and from the way his knuckles tightened as he clenched his fists, I could tell he was not far from throttling me. Perhaps you are correct, Severus, that she does not have the magnanimous talents you possess. But I find both her ego and her potions easier to induce, he said quietly, and quickly took a seat next to Minerva who eyed me suspiciously. I glared at her, which sent the woman's very spectacles shaking with indignation.   
I took my own seat, shoving aside the chair, and gruffly pulling it up beneath me. Hagrid looked curiously at me, Bee in yer bonnet, professor?. I shook my head, pressing my lips into an even thinner line. Granger gave me an odd look from the head of the table, and I saw that Lupin was still staring angrily into space , five minutes after we had spoken.   
Dumbledore leaned close to me, and whispered, So it seems that our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is not the only person who endowed with an animalistic temperament . I could do nothing but glare fiercely at him, and he merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged very slightly.   
Suddenly, Hooch stuck her overly large snout into air and took three, precise whiffs. New perfume, Severus?.   
I purpled and slouched lower in my seat. I was not looking forward to see how the year progressed.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: AHA! I TOLD YOU! *points excitedly towards part of chapter* HERMIONE AND LUPIN ARE NOT INVOLVED! 


	7. Dark Side of the Moon

I strode into the classroom, immediately quieting the hum and buzz of first day nerves. Several disgusted Gryfindors still glowered in my direction, but I paid them no mind.  
  
  
It was with my Slytherin first years that my interest lay. I glanced quickly over their faces, several promising pairs of eyes gleaming malevolently in the smoky light of the dungeons. I glanced, peripherally, at a boy whose blue black hair hung in straggles in front of his eyes. He was surrounded, ironically enough, by two Crabbe and Goyle-esque toads, who guarded his every move. His eyes skimmed over me, wearing a petulantly bored expression. He yawned very obviously, his bone white hand shielding the dark cavity of his mouth.   
  
  
I felt an immediate lurch of dislike towards him, and even a touch of unease. I could tell he would be unpredictable, rude, obnoxious. Astoundingly similar to his predecessor, Draco Malfoy. I groaned inwardly. Wasn't dealing with one self important bastard enough?   
  
  
I stayed silent for several moments, frowning as I surveyed them. Several looked distinctly uncomfortable beneath my gaze, and as a tactic of intimidation, I observed them the longest. One child, a girl, with bright hazel eyes, looked up at me, quill and paper ready, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the corners of her mouth threatening to erupt into smiles at any moment.   
  
  
  
Ms. Lankers, I said quietly enough, but letting the other hear. She jumped nervously, my famed voice affecting her formerly happy demeanor. Tell me, what is so amusing that you must wear a half-witted grin to class?, I said snappishly. I congratulated myself as she flushed darkly beneath my words, struggling for a response. There is nothing quite like the slow destruction of an adolescent's confidence.   
  
  
I....nothing sir. I was just looking forward to this class, is all. Potions looks extremely interesting, she stammered, placing her quill in the ink pot and reverently pushing a potions textbook into my view. I smiled, and she relaxed, falling into the trap so many others before her had. Six points from Ravenclaw, Ms. Lankers, for you wonderfully sarcastic wit, I said smoothly, never missing a beat. Her smile and loosened shoulders stiffened, and I could tell that if I kept pursuing this, her tears would be my eventual victory.   
  
  
I wasn't being sarcastic sir, she protested, her eyes widening. A girl next to her elbowed her for silence, but it was already too late. A further eight points, girl, I snarled, descending on her desk, a giant black vulture, for another interrupting me. As for you, Ms. Highsmith, twelve points from Gryfindor for causing disorder in the classroom, I continued, moving swiftly onto her table mate. The girl whom I had been speaking to had the sense to close her mouth, much to my disappointment. I was rather looking forward to crippling Gryindor's house cup chances on the first day.   
  
  
The rest of the class went undisturbed, the only ripples caused by the raven haired boy whose name I hadn't learned yet. His body guards made sure to add unwanted and unwarranted ingredients to the surrounding Gryfindors, effectively ruining their already pathetic potions. It was amusing, actually, to see a girl that insistently reminded me of Hermione Granger burst into tears because her perfect potion had managed to turn her blue ferret into a furry, snapping puddle.   
  
  
By this time, my patience was gone, and I was tiring of this new class. Although these Gryindors were not as unbearable as Potter and Weasley, their presence was still a great source of annoyance.   
  
  
Class dismissed, I called out, and a silent sigh of relief blew over them. As they rushed to cram books and ingredients into their satchels, the raven haired boy slipped a dungbomb into Granger-clone's satchel. , I said very loudly, and I was pleased to see they all froze, mid-step, I believe I smell something far more foul than the wasted efforts you all made in class. Open your bags, each and every one of you. Not one word, look or movement of protest was uttered.   
  
  
Each student willingly dumped the contents of their bag onto work benches. Several girls, I was amused to see, rushed to hide their hideous wizard tabloids, magazines and romance novels. Only the Granger girl stood, unabashed, proudly offering her bag for inspection.   
  
  
Name, girl, I said as I wrenched open the top, knowing full well what I would find.Mariah Tooksbury, she said. I dug through it, feeling her quills and ink bottles until my fingers closed around the coveted object. , I said in my most venomous voice, I believe this is the source of that hideous odor. For a minute, I almost believed that a child could smell so foul. She stood on her tip toes to see the object clasped in my hand.   
  
  
She clapped her hand to her mouth in horror, forgetting my most insulting comment. Sir, I honestly have no idea..., she began. , I roared, not only have you disturbed my class, but I will have to call Filch for this. Detention for a week. Twenty points from Gryindor. Class dismissed. Ms. Tooksbury, a word, if you will.   
  
  
  
The class practically shot out of the doors. In fact, I had no idea that children were inclined to move that fast, especially the rather plenteous Mr. Boskett, whom I had the pleasure of deducting more points from. The girl sat rigidly at her desk, her hands clasped almost piously together, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to halt the tears that were so inevitably close.   
  
  
  
Your detention, Ms. Tooksbury, should prove to be far more interesting than the top ceiling of my classroom, I drawled, enunciating each syllable, watching her shrink from me. I didn't set off the dungbomb, sir, I swear it wasn't me..., she began, but immediately stopped when she saw the expression on my face. Did you honestly think that would amuse me, Ms.Tooksbury? That your fellow Gryindors would find that sort of childish, inane behavior brave or honorable? Or perhaps it was to draw attention to yourself because you lack certain other characteristics (I let my gaze linger on her ungracefully plain face; she struggled valiantly against crying, but I saw one rotund tear drop scurry down her face), I said scathingly, my mouth contorted in a cruelly amused smirk. She was twisting the edges of her robes in her hand, the wool becoming more stretched and malformed with each desperate ministration. She swallowed several times, trying to control her breathing in the oppressive silence.   
  
  
  
I'm very, very sorry professor, she said at length, her voice finally steadying itself. She did not dare to glance up at me, even though my expression had somewhat softened. I coughed lightly, then picked up my quill and parchment, preparing to write a statement to Filch, when I heard her quietly gesturing for my attention. I raised an eyebrow in her direction, finding it far more effectual to communicate non verbally at this point.   
I was hoping....if you would let me make up the mistake in class today...an essay...eight feet of parchment...anything?, she asked fearfully. I will punish you how I see fit, Ms. Tooksbury. I will have none of your unwanted interjections. You've wasted enough of my time already, I said witheringly the tone of my voice becoming arrogantly disinterested.   
  
  
  
She huddled there for a few minutes quietly hiccuping her sobs into her satchel, trying to hide her distress from me. I said you may go, but if you prefer to humiliate yourself further, please choose another teacher, I said, perhaps Professor Granger would understand. She herself has done a fair share of idiotic things in my classroom. She gave me one more imploring glance before positively stampeding out of the classroom, running as fast as her heavily shooed feet would allow.   
  
  
  
I sighed and shook my head. I heard another slight jumping sound , and I smiled as Gally, my cat, appeared on one of the desks. She had been sleeping atop the potions ingredient cabinet. Gally, Gally, I said quietly, will those impossible Gryfindors ever learn that it is sometimes wisest to hold their tongues than to attempt to salvage pride?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: No, no no. Snapey is not going to become involved with his student, I was just trying to explicate what went on in his head when he was actually saying these sarcastic, horribly destructive things to children. Anyways, I also wrote it out of fear that he was becoming too soft and sappy. If you think he still is, please let me know. Oh, and I will try to make his hair less greasy in future chapters, even though I for one never believed it actually was, and that Harry Potter was just jealous. ; p  
Thanks to all reviewers, I appreciate it muchly. Hope you like the Pink Floyd title, thought adding a bit of pop culture to Snape would be amusing. 


	8. Lather, Rinse and Repeat!

Dinner was always an unbearable affair, mostly because I hate large, crowded places packed tight with odiforous adolescents. And, today, oddly enough, my appetite had further diminished. I was walking slowly through the hall, feeling each step as though I was dragging it through a knee high bog. I scowled fearsomely at the paintings on the wall that were blowing kisses in my direction, then tittering behind their fans.   
  
I heard a frightened squeak behind me, and I whirled around, only to see Mariah Tooksbury shivering with fright under an extremely large pile of books. So large, in fact, I could only see the top of her head. Ms. Tooksbury, I'm assuming, I said sarcastically, watching as she nodded her head. Twelve points for loittering in the halls and being late for dinner, I finished. I heard a repressed sob as she fled again, this time struggling not only to run from me, but to do so beneath books that, collectively, weighed more than she.   
  
Professor, can't you just leave them alone?, I heard an exasperated voice say. Hermione Granger stood there, hands on hips, wearing a very aggravated expression. I snickered at her, drawing my robes around me with a small flourish. Pray tell me, I asked, moving closer to her, what lessons would they learn? I'm only playing the role their simpering, idiotic parents will not. She shot daggers at me with her glare. Yes, but as I seem to remember, and I do believe my memories are far less faded than yours (she ignored the caustic snort I made), Draco Malfoy had never learnt anything. In fact, he seemed to be more in control of the class than yourself, she finished calmly, her brown eyes regarding the range of anger that swiftly passed through my face.   
  
Yes, and I remember, Miss Granger, that it was Potter and Weasley who jerked the strings as your puppeteers, I snarled, forgoing any trace of amusment. She took on a benignly frightened face as she slowly slid away from me. I could not help but notice the effect that the hateful childhood name still retained.   
  
Professor Granger, she said quietly, inspecting her spotless fingernails. I actually have a valid question, Professor, I said, coming closer to her, not wishing for my personal life or questions to be splattered about the halls, for all the eagerly craned ears of the portraits to hear. She looked up at me, and hastily wiped smudges of tears and chalk dust from her face.   
  
Yes, Professor Snape?, she said, very reluctantly. I winced, my name from her lips sounding nearly as abrasive as my barbed comments. Where did you get the ingredients to brew wolfsbane?, I asked quickly, withdrawing a vial from my robes. Her eyes widdened with guilt, though she tried to conceal it. I believe, Professor, that the only tools with which to produce this are found in my personal stores, is that not true?, I punctuated each syllable with a shake of the vial. Her eyes wandered restlessly between the potion and my face. I made especially sure to remain impassive.   
  
What makes you so certain it was me?, she asked, pushing forward slightly, affording quite the view of her chest. I narrowed me eyes, losing patience with her, Because Remus Lupin, being quite the knight in shining armor he is, came to me this morning, offering an explanation of why I saw him exiting after you this morning from your chambers. Was this the truth, or was it to save your insipid reputation of helping others?.   
  
She laughed shrilly, an ill disguise to her unease. Professor, if I didn't know you better, I would say your elephantine ego is tripping you up. I brewed the wolfsbane, yes, but with your ingredients, no. Hogsmeade has the quite the selection, as does Knockturn Alley. I wouldn't *dream* of invading your personal space, she smiled. I grimaced in return, not fully sated with her explanation, So why is it that Lupin did not ask me to brew it for him, why did he find it necessary to seek you out instead?. She gave a small, genuinely surprised laugh, Isn't it obvious, Snape? You hate him with such a thinly veiled passion, he was afraid you would poison him first.   
  
I was absolutely enraged by this, As stupidly mistaken as your friend might be, I will further justify myself by saying this: I never let my personal repugnance for certain peoples, or in his case, half humans, interfere with my work. He has also imbibed potions I made for him in the past, and he certainly seems no worse for wear.   
  
Snape, does the name James Potter ring a bell? The only reason you hated Harry so much is because of his father. And, I find that a few simple ingredients could have vastly improved the original taste of your brew, she shot back, more quick on her feet than I had credited her for. She was also gradually moving towards me, whether this was purposeful, I hadn't any idea, but I was still uncomfortably aware of how clean she smelled. And how her hair had lost its ugly frizz and that she didn't seem to be stuck in quite so awkward a body.   
  
She must have realised she was drifting towards me to, for she paused, then turned away, walking slowly towards the end of the hall. A small, furry animal immediately trotted after her, mewing piteously.   
  
, I said, rather offended by her disloyalty. Granger laughed, scooping her up in her arms, and rubbing her face in her fur. I had no idea you had sympathy for animals, Professor, she said coyly. I don't. This cretinous rodent seems to have momentarily forgotten who her real master is, I said irritably. , Granger said, raising her eyebrow, softly plopping Gally onto the stone floor, didn't you know that it was dogs who have masters and cats who have people?.   
  
I smiled wickedly, Why then, perhaps your canine colleague would be delighted to know that you would be able to serve as his proud new owner. She gave me a very withering look, I see that the lavender oil did nothing for your countenance, Professor. Then perhaps furthering my explorations of this was wishful thinking. Anyway, I was planning on giving you this in a far more discreet manner, but what better time than the present?.   
  
She strode towards me quickly, and pressed a hard bottle of something in my hands. Her hot palms pressed down on mine for one second, and I realised how close I had been to her face. I cursed myself for such lecherous thoughts.   
  
I stared after her for a long time, a mixture of loathing and hunger in my face. I had no idea what to think of this woman, this oddly changed, yet very much the same Hermione Granger. And when I thought of Remus Lupin, my grip on the bottle became tighter, and I heard a sudden cracking. I glanced down at my palm, seeing a sweet looking, gelatinous substance ooze out. I performed a repairo charm immediately, and the odd liquid was slowly sucked back in. I read the label and gasped.   
Madam Madreaid's Hair Tonic for Men.   
  
Infernal woman.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: LoL. I dedicate this chapter to those who have wished for the eradication and eventual destruction of our formerly greasy haired professor. I thought it would be funny to give him a bottle of Pantene, but wizarding shampoo is much cooler. 


	9. Bad Hair Day

After this, I decided my appetite was thoroughly ruined. I had even less inclination to eat, and I was moreover extremely insulted. I stood, awkwardly holding the hair tonic at arm's length, as it were highly volatile and would explode with no warning. Gally came up to me with a very smug expression on her face. She wove herself between my legs, and I sighed. Today was turning out to be a mixture of both good and horrid, and to top it off, I was actually feeling a pang of conscience about Mariah Tooksbury.   
  
Come, you mutinous beast, I said Gally, who purred even more loudly. I skulked to my chambers, wanting even less to encounter any more students. Spiritus mundi, I said to the painting, who depicted a girl staring with exceptionally blue eyes. She nodded, and wordlessly allowed me entrance. At least someone around here knows when to keep silent, I grumbled.   
  
I paced around my room in my, constantly fiddling with my hair, running my hands through it, smelling it, even asking the enchanted bloody mirror. Do you think my hair is..greasy?, I asked tentatively, actually afraid that it would answer truthfully. Well, you could do with a bit of a scrub, it said, and clucked its disapproval. I frowned at it, and pulled one of the Slytherin banners over the surface.   
  
Why does it matter, I asked to no one in particular, I'm here to teach, not to have idiot adolescent girls swoon over me. I scowled even more, crossing my arms at the memory of the flouted Gilderoy Lockhart. I looked at the hair tonic again, and opened it carefully, making sure no living or enchanted thing saw me do this. I took a whiff.   
  
To my surprise, it smelled not half as bad as I had expected. A rather lively floral bouquet, one might say, if they were a poetic person, which I was not. I drew a bath and slowly lowered myself in, enjoying the first peaceful moment of the day. For a second, I glimpsed Hermione Granger doing the same, and found that I was suddenly in need of a very cool shower.   
  
When I climbed out of the shower, my hair dripping wet as it always does, I noticed an immediate change. Not only was it literally squeaky clean, it was...bouncy. Bouncy, shiny, extremely feminine hair. Good gods what had she given to me? How was I expected to face my students with this disgustingly fluffy mane? Gone was my sobering blue black hair, and it was replaced by this bloody pouf on the top of my head.   
  
No no no no no no, I mumbled, frantically scrambling for a comb or brush or hair oil. I combed it through my hair, and was even more horrified when it became....curly! I literally yelped in shock, because Gally came running through, her paws skidding to a halt on the marble. She gave me one glance, then triumphantly leapt up onto a bookshelf and went to sleep.   
  
I tossed a quick amount of powder into my fireplace, and suddenly, a very sleepy, very confused Hermione Granger stepped out, rubbing her eyes. It took her several minutes to realize where she was, and when she did, she let out a horrified scream. If...you..touch me, I'll hex you, she warned, backing away, bumping into my books and collections.   
  
I noticed she was also wearing boxers and a very minimal sleeping chemise. I'll remind myself of that next time, Professor, especially when you have an actual weapon, I said sarcastically, gesturing at her hand which was curled around an imaginary wand. She went colorless, and then quickly reached behind her to grab a quill.   
  
Do save me the trouble of reorganization and put the quill back. If I was going to attack, do you not think I would do it elsewhere than the school grounds? Don't insult my intelligence, girl, I said irritably. She threw the quill over her shoulder, and crossed her arms. Than why the hell did you summon me here?, she asked harshly, clearly still not believing the fact that I would not harm her underneath Albus' nose.   
  
What did you put in that hair tonic?, I whispered savagely, bringing my face very close to hers, so she would not mistake this a Weasley-esque prank. She caught sight of my new, fluffy mane, and could not stifle her giggle. She began to shake with laughter, turning away from me, leaving me to stare at her rather attractive box-ered bum. Her own fluffy hair was still sleep meshed and relatively flat.   
  
She finally faced me again, and with a perfectly serious face, I did absolutely nothing, Professor, I swear. I didn't enchant it, giving it to you was as far as the joke went. I must have flushed red, for she quickly stopped speaking and turned a bright shade of pink herself. I went and retrieved the bottle from my bathroom and hurled it at her.   
  
She caught it deftly and read the label. She let out a low groan and leaned heavily on the desk, clutching her forehead as if it pained her. When she looked up at me, her eyes were grossly apologetic. I didn't read the label correctly. I thought it said for oily hair. It read For added fluff and volume'. Oh, Severus, I'm so sorry!, she said, but she couldn't hide her amusement. Very well, Miss Granger. Although you may believe that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I for one do not wish to resemble the bloated pin cushion that so *charmingly* adorns your head, I said scathingly.   
  
She made a sound somewhere between an enraged shout and a hysteric chortle. She quickly took my wand from me and tapped my head (though harder than was necessary). I felt the curls ease from my head, and my normally lanky hair return. I thank you, Professor Granger, though if you decide to perform such stunts again, I shall make sure this is the last Hogwarts sees of you, I said dryly, going quickly over to the mirror, and tugging off the sheet, making sure that she did not turn my head some hideous shade of purple.   
  
When I faced her again, she was smiling behind her hand, her eyes glinting an expression that was a diverting affection, as well as some loathing. What is so funny, Professor? Is it not enough you've managed to spoil my day twice in a row?, I asked, exasperated. I walked towards her, not quite striding, but more of a tired shuffling. She didn't shrink from me, she only observed me through her extremely shrewd looking eyes.   
  
She began to chuckle, which then progressed into a full, raucous belly laugh. She clutched her stomach as she doubled over, tears of mirth sprouting from her eyes. She gasped breath, as she looked at me, and suddenly, my face through a will of its own, formed a smile, and I find myself beginning to laugh with her. What is this, I was screaming in my head, but my face paid no mind. In fact, I laughed more loudly.   
  
Suddenly, she stopped, and so did I. She clapped her hand over her mouth, looking thoroughly disturbed and disgusted. She skittered off the desk and flew to the door, still shielding her mouth. Her expression was so completely confused, I myself did not know how to feel. Was I that loathful that even a few seconds of shared laughter was nauseating?  
  
She slammed the door behind me, and I hear the patter of her bare feet on the stone. I looked after her, feeling oddly crushed. I glanced helplessly at Gally, who opened one eye during this whole entire affair. She sighed, stretching her paw out.   
  
I looked at the mirror again, and caught sight of myself. Greasy, lanky, waxy, sour, frowning, beaked, black toothed. Old. No wonder she detests me. I can't even stand the sight of myself, I said viciously.   
  
Well, dearie, it might help if you washed your hair a bit, the mirror replied sleepily.   
  
Oh. Shut the bloody hell up.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Are we feeling bad for Snapey yet? He's still a dastardly bastard, but there's something so pathetic about him. Anyway, hoped you liked that one. By the way, if you're curious, Gally is short for Galadriel, from LOTR. This will prove to be an interesting topic of conversation in later chappies. Thanks to reviewers. Am eternally grateful. I know I didn't really remedy the bad hair situation, but I wanted to do something kind of humorous and kind of melancholy. If that works. Whatever. Ignore me. Just read. 


	10. Whyte and Rede

Sleep proved to be an impossible achievment. No matter how many times I turned, fluffed pillows, tried counting gnomes, or even my most favorite remedy, imagine Potter being bucked from his broom in quidditch, failed to alleviate my problem.   
I must have dozed off, eventually, for a frightened squeaking is what roused me. I rubbed my eyes, confused, and sat up, and almost immediately fell out of bed. A house elf stood there, shaking with fright, frantically screeching my name, meanwhile, sobbing into what appeared to be a disgusting pair of boxers. I wrinkled my nose. I never had much of a liking for the creatures, and even less when I heard that Hermione Granger was campaigning on their behalf.   
What do you want, I snapped at it. Its hideously enormous eyes began filling with cloudy tears, Oh sir, Minnie didn't want to be no nuisance, sir. She is calling you and calling you, but you never waked up. Oooooh!!. The ugly thing broke into another wail and began to ferociously beat its head against one of my bookcases. Stop it, stop it, I shouted over the din of its self abuse. It halted immediately, and looked up fearfully. What time is it?, I asked softly, knowing a harsh voice would spur another useless outburst. Nine thirty, sir, it said, shivering again.   
I rolled my eyes back up into my head. Good gods, that means my first class would have been cancelled. Why didn't you tell me it was nine thirty, elf? Is it your job to stand around and make an obstacle of yourself?!, I roared, not caring if I made the thing cry again. It nodded and wordlessly evaporated into the air.   
I leapt out of bed, tugging on my robes, running fingers through my hair, grabbing notes, quills, and eventually, my self composure. I flew out of my rooms, running at a surprisingly quick pace towards my dungeons. From the way the doors were ajar, I gathered that my class had already taken it upon itself to leave. Unfortunately for them, it only meant a grevious amount of points taken off from each offending house.   
I strode into the classroom, preparing to meticulously lay out my work upon my desk, until I noticed that it contained another occupant. Granger sat there, furiously scribbling something over parchment, awkwardly reminding me of her overly eager to please self as a teenager. So engrossed was she, that even when I cleared my throat, she failed to look up.   
I smirked, and attempted again, Miss Granger, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing at my desk? Stealing more potions ingredients, glancing at grades, trying to figure out my secret of staying alive after death? Fifty points, Granger, for being places that you shouldn't. She jumped when she heard my voice, and quickly began to gather her things in her satchel, stammering excuses, I'm sorry Professor, you weren't here this morning...I didn't know what to do....I.... She stopped suddenly, and gave me a very hard stare, crossing her arms, and biting her lip. Her bushy hair looked oddly tamed, but not unpleasantly straight or greasy. Very amusing, Professor. Perhaps your secret to a long life is a daily indulgence in sadism, she snapped, I did you an enormous favor by teaching classes this morning when you didn't show up. I hardly think that you would appreciate Remus Lupin teaching the exact art of potions class. I frowned at her. It was useless, trying to argue with this girl, she always found ways to be the victor.   
She looked at me curiously, Where were you, Severus? You would be the last person I'd expect to miss a class. On a first name basis then, are we? Very well, *Hermione*, if you must know, I got some much needed rest, and if those torpid house elves bloody well knew how to wake someone up, I would have been on time and saved you the trouble, I said scathingly, enjoying the red flush that erupted in her face.   
No need Professor. I am highly sure that the students appreciated a change of pace from their old frigid professor constantly breathing down their necks all the time, and whispering subversive comments, she replied quickly, her tone highly acidic. She began walking away from me, her shapely calves encased in a becoming pair of muggle-produced high heels.   
By the way, Professor, just so you aren't completely shocked, I took twenty points from Slytherin this morning. I doubt Mariah Tooksbury will ever have a potions class that was so kind to her again, she said quietly, her usually soft brown eyes burning with an emotion I couldn't detect. Perhaps it was recognition in the child of herself, or simply, lust for revenge and reprieve, but it added an attractive, if not Amazon-esque quality to her.   
Neither of us spoke, but stood glaring fiercely at each other. I have no doubt that she harbored several homicidal fantasies about me, but I was even angrier because I had no idea what to think of her. Surely, this self confident, cooly elusive woman was not the same Hermione Granger? But, even as I thought this, I saw certain slips, old character traits that were a dead giveaway.   
You may leave, Miss Granger, I said wearily. I had no wish to fight or be in the same room with her any longer. Professor Granger, she snapped,and just because you see a younger version of myself in Mariah Tooksbury, does not give you license to belittle or intimidate her.  
If you're criticising me, Professor, that would be like that oh-so-famous muggle saying which I am sure you are aqquainted with: that's the pot calling the kettle black. You detest Slytherin merely because I am head of house. How different are we, then?, I asked calmly, folding my arms.   
Oh, don't be so self absorbed professor, she said shrilly, her voice rising in anger, perhaps I hate Slytherins because they all have a tendency to be smarmy, snarky, vicious bastards. Each and every one. And to have a total egotistical maniac as head of house has hardly improved their standing.   
I advanved on her, giving up my approach of being calm and collected. She was too angry to be frightened, however, and kept going. I always thought you were nicer beneath you appearance, Snape. I always defended you. I always stood up, proclaiming you a genius, brilliant, whatever. I always thought that your coldness and brutality were a defense mechanism, that the things that streamed out of your mouth were partically because you couldn't help saying them, and partially because you weren't used to censoring your thoughts. I used to believe that you weren't as bad as you acted, but now I know that my beliefs and inclinations were completely misguided. That you are as you seem, and so completely ordinary at that. I know dozens like you, Snape, and they're just as spiteful. I hope you die a miserable, lonely death you smug son of a bitch, she practically shouted. She was also sobbing as she spoke this, her arms flailing widlly as if she were drowning.   
I stared at her, not knowing whether to slap her or poison her or even admit defeat. I had no desire to verify exactly how many of those painfully blunt points were correct, and how it took her a matter of seconds to deystroy the shields that I had spent so many years constructing. She did not look apologetic, nor did she appear triumphant. She looked weaker, vulnerable, childlike.   
She turned away from me, her shoulders heaving with heavily muffled cries. I was still left standing, glancing wildly in every direction, for once, not knowing where to turn.   
  
  
  
  
A/N: Kinda getting soapy, I know, but I wanted Hermione to explode. It's kind of been culminating, so I was glad to finally write this. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks for reviews, critiques, the like.   
  
  
  



	11. War of the Wizards

I stormed up the stairs after my classes had finished, not caring how many precious Gryindors I barreled over. In fact, it felt good to knock them all down, like some life sized version of wizard's chess. I approached Dumbldore's office and whispered the password. Surprisingly, the headmaster hadn't change his password. And why would he, the only other people who knew it would be Potter and Weasley. And Granger. My stomach did an odd dip when I thought of her name, the way her face contorted with rage, then sadness as she looked at me. I realized that it was out of pity that she had reached out to me, that it was out of pity that she had been even minimally civil.   
  
And suddenly, I felt her scorn more empowering. Having someone detest you with a great fervor enables you. Having someone pity you does not. I snarled viciously as I stamped up the stairs. I wanted Albus to have no false pretenses about the reason I was here. I knocked on the door, admiring briefly the ornate wood. It creaked open, and his cheerful face beckoned me in.   
  
, I began, but he put up his hand. If you're scathing criticism and complaints have something to do with that recumbent woman over there, I'm afraid that she has reached me first, he said quietly. I looked where he ws gesturing towards a very heavily sleeping Hermione Granger. It was not hard to tell that she had been crying, from the way her cheeks flushed and small streaks marred her face.   
  
What is she doing here!, I hissed, having half a mind to go and rudely knock her from her seat. She came to me, most distressed this afternoon after having what I gather to be quite the argument with you, he said, still observing her, his cheerfulness somewhat diminished. She taught my class without my consent. She has no reason to be upset with me. I was just lucky she did not proceed to explode my classroom or jostle my ingredients. It isn't just anyone who can teach potions, Headmaster, and I assure you that Hermione Granger does not qualify, I said. Dumbledore gave me a long, but not unkind stare. Was it not you, Severus, who had made the suggestion that she was one of Hogwarts' most brilliant minds in the first place?, he asked.   
  
I fumbled with my robes, finding that I could not quite match Albus' gaze at the moment, feeling abashed at my own contradiction. The silence in the room was thick, and the only sounds for several minutes were Granger's heavy breathing and occasional utterances. I knew Dumbledore was a patient man, and that he would wait as long as he had to. I folded my arms, and tapped my foot impatiently, gesturing for him to start speaking. He raised an eyebrow at me, then pushed his hands slightly, as if encouraging me to raise whatever hell I felt I needed.   
  
Why the hell is she in here, I blurted, pointing my finger at Granger who as ready to fall out of her chair. Because she was so very overwhelmed that she could barely speak. As you must know by now, Severus, dear Professor Granger is very prone to the expression of emotions, he said calmly. I frowned, Well couldn't she lay down in her own chambers, then? After all, she does seem to have an enormous bed in there. Enormous enough for two people. Two people such as Lupin and herself. Dumbledore chuckled very softly, but I had a feeling that if she hadn't been so soundly sleeping, he would have nearly doubled over in amusement.   
  
Severus, if I was not so sound a judge of character, it would appear that you have succumbed to the most basic human emotion: jealousy, he said. He produced a lemon drop out of nowhere, and offered it. I made a grimace and backed away. Citrus tends to disagree with me. As do accusations of being smitten with former, overbearing students.  
  
He nodded, and popped it into his mouth. Why would I be jealous of Lupin or Granger? Granted Lupin has landed the coveted position, but I really have gotten used to this potions business. And arithmetic was never my favorite or strongest subject, especially with that barmy old codger, Vector. Now that she's replaced with equally disagreeable woman, I find my liking of the subject further diminished, I said sourly, looking disdainful as Dumbledore by-passed an immediate reply to my comment by sticking another candy into his mouth.  
  
So, I see that you do not believe Professor Lupin's perfectly valid explanation as to why he was in Professor Granger's chambers?, he asked carefully, watching my every expression. Why should I? Why so early in the morning? Couldn't he not find enough fully mended clothes to dress himself with that he must run and fetch Granger's help? And why that bloody smug look? He could have asked me for the potion, and I'm sure I would have it carefully prepared less than an hour later. And I am not in love with that damned impossible woman!, I ended up shouting the last bit, rousing the lovely, perpetually weepy Granger.   
  
She sat straight up, looking thoroughly confused and irate. What's going on.....what in Merlin's name is he doing here?, she asked sleepily, gesturing at me with one of her long fingers. Dumbledore sighed, then put his hands up. I really do give up. You two must make peace, be it now or never. I'm not asking you to be excessively pleasant to one another, but to simply respect each other. And, I would appreciate it if you did not bicker so loudly in the halls. Several students find it more amusing than I. When I return, I expect both of you to be much more civil to each other than from when you entered, he said wearily. Granger looked extremely displeased, like a child being denied a coveted thing and who is about to throw a monstrous tantrum.   
  
Dumbledore hastily left, leaving us to our own devices. I looked at her again, and cleared my throat. Now, where to begin?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: don't worry, this is mos def not the end of the chapter. Yes, yes, yes, Hermione and Snape will eventually both end up kicking boots, but good things come to those who wait. *wink*


	12. The Riddler

  
Once again, I found myself staring eyeball to eyeball with her. She coughed softly into her hand, disguising a yawn. Still tired?, I asked, careful to keep the tone of my voice in check. She nodded, and screwed her eyes tight as she yawned again. Then perhaps you should find solace in Remus Lupin's waiting arms, I snapped. She closed her mouth, and said nothing.  
  
Oh. I forget. He has a tendency to bite in the throes of passion, I drawled sarcastically. Is that from past experience, Professor?, she asked calmly, fingering a small curl that had sprung from behind her ear. I reddened, not expecting her comment to sting.   
  
Why are we here for, anyway?, I asked crossly, swiftly moving towards the other end of the room, my fingers reaching for the door handle. We're here because Albus believes that our relationship has much to be desired. It is not secret, Professor, our ill disguised detestation of one another. Working peaceably together would perhaps alleviate harbored animosity. If not, I'll resign, and you'll continue, just as you always have, making others around you miserable, she said quietly, oh, and you won't be able to open that door. Dumbledore locked it before he left.   
  
I gave her a skeptical glance, How do you know?. Because I saw him, she answered matter of factly. You're quite a remarkable witch, I responded, before I even knew what I was saying. She looked quite shocked. I do believe, Professor, that that is the closest you have ever come to paying me a compliment. I shrugged, but inside I was positively boiling. What stupid instinct had forced that out of my mouth, against my will? I closed my eyes, and breathed deeply, trying to control some extremely odd emotions that were invading me.   
  
Are you all right?, she asked, alarmed, stepping forward. I nodded, my eyes still closed, and found myself backed up against the wall. Granger, who was always one for ignoring commands, continued to march on, coming far too close for comfort. She reached her hand out and wiped my forehead. You're burning, she whispered, the tinge of fear audible. I swiped her hand away impatiently, It's just the bloody fire in this room. I never knew why he kept it so hot.   
  
Her fingers felt marvelously cool, and when I pressed the back of my hand to my head, I found I was indeed quite warm. Should I call Madam Pomfrey?, she whispered, treating me as if I were staggering around, spewing blood. As you so kindly pointed out, Granger, the door is locked. I have no idea when he will be returning, I snapped. She looked injured for one second, but her composure quickly returned, Well, at least I'm not so self absorbed that I can glance at other people with drawing self comparisons. I rolled my eyes.   
  
Would you really resign if we didn't resolve this problem?, I asked, curious. The hell I knew would freeze over if Hermione Granger ever stepped down from an argument. Not unless you resigned first, she said, and I gave her a curious look. It would mean one of my life goals was accomplished, she said simply. I snorted, Besides from being perfect at everything and landing Harry Potter as a sidekick?. She didn't answer for a few seconds, No, because it would mean that I have finally rid Hogwarts of the plague that is Severus Snape.   
  
I laughed wheezily, I would have never thought it in you, Granger. I'm surprised and disheartened to know you've gained pluck. Perhaps next time we meet, it will evolve into common sense.   
  
I'm glad to see you feel better, she said sarcastically, obviously feeling duped. No, girl, I wasn't trying to trick you just for the purpose of humiliating you, and if I did, it would be in a far more public place. What good is there to humiliation if no one is to see it?, I retorted. You'd be surprised, she said quietly, chewing intensely on one of her fingers. I admit I did my fair share of torment and taunting in the classroom, I said ponderously. She looked up, her cinnamon eyes impossible to read in the firelight.   
  
What that an apology?, she asked, incredulous. I shrugged, Perhaps. If you've earned it in the near future. If only Harry and Ron were here..., she began, but I cut her off, And well it is that they aren't Granger, for an admission would have never been possible with them quibbling, first over quidditch and then over that ridiculously stupid ice queen Fleur. And Cho Chang, she added quietly, staring at something to the left of my head. Cho Chang? Weasley had enough sense to fall in love with a perfectly suited prospect such as Cho Chang?, I asked, surprised. I had always thought Fleur Delacour was his fancy. Oh well. Maybe his brothers knocked some sense into him after all.   
  
No. It wasn't Ron. It was Harry who was smitten with Cho, she said, even more quietly, avoiding my eyes. It suddenly hit me, You were in love with Harry?. I was absolutely shocked, I had always imagined Potter as a bit below Granger's radar. , she admitted, gathering courage to stare into my eyes, for seven years I always thought maybe he could come to his senses or that a stupid bludger would knock some damn sense into him. I always thought it was because we were friends, and that he didn't want to ruin us. The terrible trio. The perfect equation. But why would he go for something that looked like me, when he had nearly all the girls in school practically licking his footsteps?. She punched a sofa cushion bitterly, her eyes suddenly watering.   
  
Potter is hardly worth a broken heart, I sniffed, feeling the pain of her rejection almost as exquisitely as she, after all, falling in love with such a cretin is like wasting Nyaid scales on Neville Longbottom. She laughed, but I could still sense that she smarted.   
  
She rose and came closer to me. You know, you're really not half bad, Snape, she said cheerfully. Do shuttup Granger, you're being an ass, I said quietly, praying with a fervent desperation that she would come closer. She did, and I kept shrinking away.   
Greasy git, she said.   
  
Stupid girl, I replied.   
  
.   
  
Tag along.   
  
.   
  
.   
  
  
And suddenly, her face was in inch away from mine, and her lips brushed my own, soft as a sphinx's mane.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: It is certainly not going to be a full blown out sex scene! But, both have finally ended up kissing. Are you guys happy? *rolls eyes*. Just kidding. I was really looking forward to writing a love scene as well.   
  
  
  
  



	13. I'll Be Sweeter Tomorrow

  
I gasped, and she took this as one of excitement and not surprise, and wound her fingers around my neck, and pressed herself into me. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead found myself kissing her back, harshly grinding my lips into hers, tasting either a particularly sugary candy she had been eating or lip lotion she had applied. She moaned, and I gripped the bookcases, fearful that I wouldn't be able to pull away.   
  
She was pressed herself painfully into me, and I could feel the terse breaths coming from her. Her breasts, which had seemed to sprout from nowhere in her seventh year, were fully against me, and I struggled very hard to control unchaste thoughts.   
  
Ms. Granger, I mumbled into her mouth, but she thrust her tongue into my own. I nearly bit down on it, but I roughly shoved her away. Ms. Granger, I barked, and she opened her eyes, what in God's name were you thinking?. Oh Merlin...I'm so sorry, Professor, I have no idea....good gods, this is...., she said breathlessly, struggling to smooth out her robes. There was a deep crimson flush heading towards her cheeks, and it made her look disarmingly pretty.   
  
I took a deep breath, several, actually, to steady my own head. The last thing I needed was to feel anything but spite for her. I ran a nervous hand through my hair, and pretended not to watch her as she rebuttoned her blouse. This was possibly the most awkwardly intimate situation I had ever been placed in, and it didn't help that the damn heat from the fire seem to have intensified a tenfold.   
  
I'm so sorry, Professor... I have absolutely no clue...look, Snape, I know you must find me even more pathetic...I just hope Albus doesn't come back..oh!, with this she began to cry, sitting down on the overstuffed armchair with such force, that it jumped slightly. Sympathy is not my forte, and, as far as I could tell, neither was snogging fellow professors.   
  
Look, Granger, I began crossly, but she indeed looked up and gave me such an imploringly innocent look, I felt my knees lurch slightly. What in the bloody hell was happening to me? Why was this puerile woman affecting me so much? I don't remember the last time, if ever, that I had felt physically drained by another member of the fairer sex. She wiped her tears impatiently, and smoothed her hair.   
  
Miss Granger, this whole embarrassing incident is entirely and rather relievedly erased from my memory. I only encourage you to do the same, I said coldly, hoping that nothing in the tone betrayed my own confusion. I could still smell her on me, and it was more than a little distracting. I glanced around his office, noting with sudden horror that there nearly two dozen portraits nodding in a very knowing fashion at us. When they saw me glower, however, they immediately froze.   
  
Yes, yes. I will. And I hope that you haven't entirely lost all respect for me, she said, her voice oddly high. What makes you think I held you in such high esteem?, I asked, a bit snarkily. She gave me a pained look, and I closed my mouth. I had already done enough damage. I apologize, Granger, I said flatly, folding my arms. Forcing myself to say the words felt like something akin to pain. Just call me Hermione or Professor, she said, exasperated, I hate being called by my last name, and I especially detest being called Miss Granger. It dredges up particularly difficult memories. She shivered slightly, and I wondered idly exactly how much damaged I had caused her.   
  
Are you cold, Professor?, I asked, feeling that Hermione would sound too foreign and obtrusive. What? Oh...no, she said distractedly. She rubbed her arms up and down, trying to force blood into them.   
  
She rose hesitantly and came towards me, her brown eyes gleaming in a very distant manner. Am I really that repulsive, Professor, that every man whom I've kissed or touched or loved or even felt the slightest inkling of something like love has pushed me away or laughed at me? With Harry, it was alarm and disgust, and with you it's much the same. When I kissed Harry, the first thing he did was put his hand to my forehead to see if I had a fever, she said mournfully. I felt a twinge of pity, but only because it must have been quite humiliating being rejected by such a twit as Potter.   
  
Gran....Professor, I assure you it is only because the discomfort and complications of kissing a former student and a very rival at that, far outweigh physical attraction, I said hurriedly, without thinking. She looked at me, her eyes suddenly focused, So are you attracted to me, Snape?.   
  
It took me several seconds to answer, and when it came, it felt abrasively honest, I don't know.   
  
Emotions of a dozen different varieties flitted across her face. Suddenly, she became impassive, and I couldn't read her at all. Well, it settles it then. Just a silly, momentary mistake, she said, laughing in a very high, very strangled way. I frowned at her.   
  
Don't force amusement, Granger. It is extremely unbecoming, I said irritably. She immediately stopped trying to laugh, and sighed.   
  
Did you completely hate the idea that I was coming to teach here?, she asked, curiously. At first, yes. I had no desire for my classes to be simultaneously be taught by someone who had a particularly vehement streak of hatred for me. But, then again, none of this faculty seem to be quite attached to me, so this is nothing new, I said slowly, making sure every word was carefully plotted. She nodded assentively.   
  
You really were a brilliant potions teacher, she said softly, staring into her folded hands, a bloody bastard, but brilliant. If only you didn't dote so on Malfoy, perhaps I wouldn't have hated you quite so much. I learned so much. It's saved myself and others quite a few times. I laughed, almost genuinely smiled, but I stopped myself.   
  
I can hardly believe your words, Granger. Ten years ago, I would have been knocked over by a spare feather from Flitwick's first years, I said. She chuckled and smoothed the hems of her robes. As for Malfoy, the boy was smart. Not in an overwhelming manner, but intelligent enough. It was more his father that I was afraid of. Lucius Malfoy can be extremely unpleasant when met under the wrong circumstances, I said bitterly.   
  
What about after third year? After we stopped you from winning that medal?, she asked, and I looked up sharply. Although I had always suspected she and Potter had something to do with Black's infamous escape, I could never find sufficient enough grounds to prove it. I narrowed my eyes, and she realized her mistake, far too late. So it was you. I always knew, I said dissmissively. I could do nothing now. Black had resurfaced long enough for his name to be cleared, then he slipped easily back into anonymity.   
  
Where is Albus?, she said, desperately glancing at the door. I felt almost stung. So, conversing with me is really that horrid?, I asked sharply. She gave me an amused glance. No. I have to use the bathroom, she replied. I snorted, You women.   
  
She walked over to me and patted my head, almost affectionately, but very reservedly. Perhaps we should continue discussion of past grudges another time, she whispered into my ear, her lovely scent wafting strongly in my face. Why? Why not now?, I asked, almost feeling urged to clutch at her robe hems.   
  
Because Headmaster just returned.   
  
I whirled around, almost knocking into her, to see Albus Dumbledore, standing there, eating a chocolate frog for a change, nodding more contentedly than was warranted.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Still not there yet. But I dont want to rush this and make it sound like cheap porno. Sorry to those who wanted them to knock boots' (thank you for reminding me), but this is my babe, and I want it to be perfect. Or as close as possible. Either way, it will be in the future. Thank you so much, all of you. This is extremely encouraging. I never thought I would get this much positive response! Title from I'll Be Sweeter Tomorrow', by The O-Jays.   
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Melancholic Monster

  
I hope I have not inconvenienced you, Dumbledore said benignly, thoughtfully nibbling a leg off his chocolate frog. He twirled his white beard playfully, and beamed at both of us. I felt Granger rise beside me. , she began, a panicky look on her face, are we free to leave now?. He smiled amusedly and nodded, his white glasses completely opaque in the dim light. She gave both of us one more horrified, backward glance and flew out of the doorway, nearly tumbling down the stairs.   
  
, he said, and glided towards me, his magnificent robes shimmering. I blinked several times, not seeming to be able to tear my gaze away from the open door. I turned slowly to him, feeling odly achy and fatigued. He settled himself quite comfortably at his desk, and placed his face in his hands. I assume you and Professor Granger have overcome past difficulties?, he asked, in all seriousness. I sighed, never liking to be interrogated by one of the world's most subtly manipulative wizards.   
  
I have no idea what you're talking about, Albus, I said stiffly, feeling awkwardly aware that he knew perfectly well what had transpired. Is all well between yourself and Miss Granger?, he asked again, his tone slightly less patronizing. , I said, my voice clipped. I was already confused enough as it was.   
  
I hadn't any idea what to make of this rather pesky situation. Granger was obviously not feeling herself, for what other explanation would be offered if she was caught kissing possibly the most despised person in Hogwarts? And, if this was just a temporary lapse of sanity and inhibitions, why could I still feel the firmly hot flesh of her mouth against mine, and the perfect way into which she molded into me?   
  
Hermione Granger, as a girl, was never an ideal example of beauty. She never seemed to grow into her ungovernable hair and embarrassingly large teeth. Her body remained bony well after the others in her class had rounded out, and from the almost rageful way in which she kissed, her experience was somewhat limited. There was anger in her passion, an unrequited desire so fierce, it was dumbfounding. Her eyes, usually light brown, bordering on dark hazel, seemed so pliable usually, almost instantaneously filling with tears. But, tonight, there was something different behind them, some kind of fervent fire that bathed her whole face in dark fire. I shivered, involuntarily. That was a Hermione Granger that I found myself dangerously drawn to, yet slightly fearful of.   
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and when I looked up, his eyes were stern. Severus, you know perfectly well what you cannot hide from me. Life is not so simple that you can go about trying to deny feelings,he said, the gaiety dissolved from his voice. What feelings? I have no feelings for the stupid chit! It was a   
momentary lapse,the heat from the fire. She was emotional, needy, pesky. I'm not denying she has grown....to be an attractive woman, Albus, but I'm in no way emotionally tied to her. She's just recouping from having lusted after Potter for nearly all of her adult life, and she's improperly transferring her feelings to me, I said angrily, standing up and pacing, my dark shoes making a clatter in the echous room.   
  
So you freely admit that the kiss meant nothing? That you feel nothing? That in the three minutes of silence that have passed, that you weren't thinking of Hermione Granger?, he persisted, his gaze leveling my own. He turned from his desk, to reach and retrieve a volume from behind him. His vast and imposing library contained many secrets. I remember as a child, stumbling into his office after the James Potter incident, and my jaw slackening in awe at the sight. I put my head in my hands, not knowing what else to do. I had the ridiculous urge to crawl into a dark hole and scream bloody murder.   
  
Stupid child. What had she done? Effectively tangled other people's emotions into such an impossible knot, the end would never be found. It disgusted me to think that I was a Harry Potter replacement, but in the same instant, I felt an acutely painful need that burned somewhere south of my belly. One of the seven deadly muggle sins burned brightly in my mind. I felt even more despondent, something like the poor wretch in the Scarlet Letter'.   
  
I feel nothing. She means nothing. Granted it would be a terrible waste of a mind if she decided to depart, but I feel nothing, I said calmly, but it came out in a hiss. I found it very threatening that I suddenly had no control over my voice. Dumbledore gave me a very disappointed stare. His shoulders sagged a bit, and I saw a flicker of his true age seep through his perpetual cheer. You are the only obstacle in your pursuit of happiness, he said quietly.   
  
As if Hermione Granger would be the universal solution to my problems, I sneered, the girl does little more than snivel and weep. , Dumbledore corrected. I looked up at him, annoyed and confused, . Perhaps you are so oblivious to change, Severus, that you have not noticed that Hermione Granger is no longer a girl. She is a woman, a fully functioning independent soul, with or without Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter, he finished. Why are we discussing Granger's precipitating womanhood?, I asked, uncomfortable.   
  
Because you speak about her as if she were still an awkward adolescent, who was still frightened of you, whom you could still bully, intimidate, take points from. She is changed, Severus, whether you admit it or not. She is wiser now, he said loftily. I rose from my seat, and went to the door. I am not discussing this, I said, the finality in my tone inarguable.   
  
He sighed again and hesitantly took out another candy. He offered it to me, but I waved impatiently.   
  
Severus, why does happiness elude you so?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I didn't want Dumbly Dore to come off as lecherous in this chapter. Sorry if he did. Snape's feelings are meant to remain ambigious. After all, who knows how long it's been since he's gotten some? *chuckles naughtily*


	15. The Leopard's Spots

I promptly left, my robes appropriately billowing. I ran down the steps, surprised my legs still supported. The heat from the fire and from Granger were an extremely intoxicating combination. I walked briskly down the hall, feeling immensely grateful that Hogwarts was so frigid at night. All I wanted to do was sleep, so weary was I. Nothing could sound more tantalizing than a soft bed and a sound sleep. But, just as happiness is, sleep is even more elusive.   
I let out a frustrated growl and kicked the base of an armored knight. It turned to me, creakily, and wheezed an archaic curse. The stone halls were so beatifically silent, so perfect in their placidness, that it made people uneasy. Standing in a Hogwarts corridor at night, I heard a student say once, was like waiting for a disaster to happen.   
I smiled as I mused upon the thought, staring up at the various arches. Even the portraits were quietly snoring, their canvases ruffling with the movement of their occupants. I ran my finger along the base of a canvas of an especially pretty girl, and she awoke. She squealed when she saw it was me, and immediately hid beneath her bed. I laughed mirthlessly, and inspected my finger. Filch was as diligent as ever about keeping everything spotless and well he should be. Sordid little pigs are not exempt, unfortunately, from the very prestigious halls of Hogwarts.   
I heard a shuffling behind me, and I smiled malevolently at the thought of a Gryfindor out of bed. I whirled around, and a very startled Hermione Granger stood there, trembling as she saw me.   
Granger, what are you doing out of bed?, I hissed, seeing that she was quite inappropriately dressed. Her tee shirt hugged her slender frame and her pyjama pants were thin linen. Looking for my familiar, she said, haltingly. I noticed she was shivering, and she crossed her chest in an X form to preserve modesty. I handed her my robe without question, and luckily for her, without comment.   
A cat?, I asked, slightly amused to see her massive hair lost in the depth of my clothes. She nodded, her pale skin poking out from beneath the folds. Same bloody troublesome cat you had in third year?, I grumbled, remembering the vicious orange creature that nearly killed Peter Pettigrew and allowed Sirius Black entrance to the grounds. She swallowed, and spoke, No, Crookshanks died after seventh year. He was hit by a car. I must have appeared confused, for she quickly explained, A car. You know? A muggle version of a horse less carriage? The things that make a lot of noise and go too fast?. I shook my head and she sighed.   
I'm so sorry about what happened in Dumbledore's office, she said quietly. I felt a sudden hot stab of an unidentifiable emotion, than the urge to press her against the wall and kiss her as ruthlessly as possible. I swallowed. Think nothing of it, I said gruffly. Without my robes, I had no way to hide myself. I crossed my arms, feeling unusually undressed. She began down the hall, and when she stopped to beckon me, I noticed how striking she had grown. She would never be beautiful, but she remained indelible. And the fact that I could still taste her seemingly permanent flavor, made it more unbearable for me to stand there, ignoring the sudden stream of impure thoughts running rampant.   
What's the beast's name?, I asked, my voice becoming gravelly. , she responded, ducking her head to check beneath a velvet lounge. , I asked, not surprised. She nodded as she rose, looking disappointed. We'll find him, I said stiffly, reassurance not being my most winning character trait. She shrugged, He's sort of a gypsy. I suppose he'll turn up somewhere; I just feel better with him curled about my feet.   
Isn't returning comforting enough?, I asked sharply, remembering the anguish she had caused me. She gave me a very cold look. Not when other people around seem to dislike me so much, she replied, besides, there are other things that lurk behind these walls that are far less consoling.   
Granger was a curious woman. She said such ambiguously mysterious things, that one could not help but pry. The urge to ask her exactly what she meant tottered on the edge of tongue, but, as a matter of pride, I refrained. She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. I heard her swear slightly. What was that?, I asked, honestly wondering why she had the right to curse, especially when she had an accomplice to find her stupid animal.   
I hate my hair, that's all. It's never matured, after all these years. It's an absolute dread to deal with, she said, touching her head for emphasis. I gave her an appraising glance, and relented, You always did have bushy hair, Granger. But I see it's become slightly more tame. Perhaps it has followed the footsteps of its bearer. She flushed slightly, and ducked her head farther into my robes. What was that supposed to mean?, she asked, her voice muffled.   
You always were alarmingly sensitive. One unguarded comment could send you reeling for days, I said carelessly. She stopped, and whipped around, an undeniable fire blazing in her face. Perhaps, Snape, it was because those pithy comments were deliberately damaging. You are still such a bastard, and I see your hair will never become cleaner, even with the aide of tonic, she said in a very tight voice.   
I rolled my eyes, and crossed my arms, I'm weary of arguing, Granger. We both agree to the fact that neither of us has dazzlingly pretty hair. May we please continue the search for your scatter brained animal so that I may sleep?. She put her hands on her hips, looking twistedly charming, almost like a precocious girl in her mother's too large clothes, If you don't want to help, don't. Especially if all you're going to do is insult me. I held my hands up, mocking surrender, Fine. I'll say nothing.   
She nodded hesitantly, and a look of almost regretfulness passed over her face. She swept silently through the hall, scouring beneath every bench, in every suit of armor, even atop the thick portraits. I, however, paced languidly behind her, knowing full well that no animal would hide in a cold, marbled hall. Did you check the kitchens? The common rooms? Places with heat, food and a ready supply of milk?, I asked, trying to keep my voice as non committal as possible.   
, was all she said. I laughed, Surely someone has told you that common sense is a virtue, Granger. And I'm sure that same person should also remind you that so is kindness, was her reply. I'm perfectly humane, I said flatly, knowing that kindness was entirely the wrong adjective. You are not. I know perfectly well you're not, she said, sounding irritatingly familiar as the stupidly insistent thirteen year old.   
You don't know me, Miss Granger, I said in a clipped voice. She was the last person I would want to discuss past mistakes with. She stopped speaking, but only for a few seconds. Were you really a deatheater?, she asked, almost sounding frightened. It is of no concern. Voldemort is vanquished; his followers displaced. My personal life shall remain privilege only to me. Don't pry into things you don't want to know, I said, each syllable lazily exiting my mouth.   
So you were. That's what Harry said, that you have the Mark..., she never finished, for in less than one second, I had her pinned against the wall, my knee between her legs. I brought my face threateningly close to hers, my anger bordering on murderous. I just told you what I deemed appropriate, Granger. After all, curiosity killed the cat, I whispered venomously. Visions of furthering my relationship with her rapidly wilted, for she gave a glance so searingly knowing, so scathingly all-seeing, that I released her.   
For when she looked at me, her eyes reflected what she saw: a Deatheater still vengeful, still volatile. Maybe even still faithful. The Mark had never left me, for it was branded magically. Only a bond so blackened by blood and betrayal could hold me so powerfully under its will. She gave a horrified shriek, and shrank beneath my grasp.   
My fingers had never left her long, white neck, and I could see red ridges forming where I gripped her. I pressed my lips into hers, not passionately, but menacingly. My knee was still tightly wedged between her, and she quivered in fear. Her dry lips scraped against mine, a poor parody of a kiss. I gripped her by the hair, and pulled her mouth to mine. She opened her mouth, and pulled hard on my own clothes, forcing me to stumble into her.   
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear, or see or smell or taste. All I could do was feel. Feel her frightened arousal, her frigid eroticism, her repressed, maddened desire. I pulled on her hair, tipped her face to me, my hand still around her throat. She growled animalistically, not being able to control herself.   
It was all instinct now.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Hey, hope you guys liked this one. Anyway, Granger is quite the animal, eh? Anyway, Snape is unhappy and repressed, and I assure you that some extremely sexy sex will be coming soon. 


	16. The Realm Beyond Going

She ground herself painfully into me, her sharp hips against my own. Our friction was frenzied, standing there, clawing at each other. Her lips bled beneath my fervor, but neither of us cared. Just the taste of her spurred me on, the coppery tang of her purest self. Her tongue, fiery as a poker, probed my mouth in such an achingly slow manner, I thought I was dying an exquisitely painful death.   
  
The terribly dark feeling of not caring for this girl clouded my thoughts and hazed my vision. I wanted to crush her beneath me, to cease her hurried breaths and ragged gasps for air. The need to cruelly ingest each breath she took, so she would have none of her own, was too great. I pulled her hair so hard, she wheezed. Her breasts were pressed so two dimensionally against me, it took me minutes to discern where she ended and I began. This was too much, this pent up rage. If we continued like this, we would kill each other. I could already feel the hard ridges from her nails that she had made on the nape of my neck.   
  
I pushed my leg farther between hers, and she groaned. I thought she was in pain, and I dropped it. She looked at me with such an earth shakingly lustful gaze, that I almost came.   
  
She took my hand and guided it. , I panted, we can't do this. She froze, her body stiffened beneath mine. Her hands lay rigidly at her sides, and she looked like a morbid reenactment of her second year petrified self. Her lips, red and bleeding, were slightly open and swollen, and she stared at me with a very peering look. Almost as if she could see straight through me. I looked away, I can't stand the thought of anyone seeing inside my head.   
  
, she asked, her voice unruffled as the surface of the dormant lake. Because this isn't right. You're a student, I'm an old man. Go away, Granger. Fly away to your Weasley, I said callously. I felt exactly what I meant, but also an overwhelming jealous anger that it would inevitably be Weasley or Potter with her heart in tow.   
  
You're a true bastard, Severus Snape. Why can't you just accept the fact that my feelings are genuine and not misplaced affections? I'm not a student anymore, I'm a grown woman and am certainly less suscept to hormonal rages. I've felt something for you since the minute I heard it was you trying to save Harry and not kill him. What kind of man would swallow his pride in such a humliatingly public way and save the boy of a man that nearly killed him? I admire you, and I hate you. Just because you don't think you deserve happiness doesn't mean that no one else does, she finished scathingly. I felt sufficiently less smug.  
  
She took of my cloak and threw to me. I felt incredibly restrained in my trousers as I saw her lithe form briefly in the torchlit hall. She leaned forward and kissed my very chastely on my cheek. Gods, she smelled delirious.   
  
If you really care, meet me here tomorrow, was all she said before she disappeared quickly into the dark.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry for length. Anyway, would appreciate more reviews. Title from an old Persian poem. This story dedicated to the fabulous Richard Harris, RIP. You Were Dumbledore. 


	17. The Sword and The Samurai

  
  
The next day being Monday, was of course my foulest of days. Nothing could even think of lifting my spirits past dismal, and I would snap at anything that moved.   
  
The morning began, of course, with my Gryfindor and Slytherin seventh years. I groaned as I looked at my schedule; I was teaching until 1:30, then I would have to fly to the library to do research for a certain potion. I smacked my books down on the table. Some days I truly, truly, truly detested the job of teaching other people's brats.   
  
And there was Granger. Bloody chit left her scent on my robes, her flavor in my mouth, and long, jagged scratches on my neck. I hesitated to put a cosmetic charm on them, for I wanted a reminder that I wasn't dreaming. I felt the tender curls of her hair become so willingly pliable in my fingers. I shook my head, this was no time to be having erotic day dreams. After all, teaching a group of Gryindors with an erection is not a pleasant early morning start.   
  
I stomped, rather than strode into the classroom, and there was a chilly stillness in the air. As I approached my desk slowly, I looked at each and every one of them. Something was amiss, there was too little activity. Every single pair of eyes stared at me with such genuine innocence, it looked forced.   
  
You, up here, I demanded instantly, seeing two troublemakers that reminded me of Potter and Weasley were sitting together. The boy looked at me and began to form the words of protest, but his mate shoved him out of his seat, nodding solemly. You friend cannot understand English, Peter?, I sneered, eight points from Gryindor.   
  
The boy gave me a look of pure hate before settling into seat once again. The other boy, ploddingly making his way to the front, dropped his books down with deliberated slowness. Hurry up, fool. I'm not having this class wait upon your idiocy, I snapped. The boy's books tumbled from his grasp, and from the horror on his face, I could tell it was completely unplanned.   
  
A wicked smile lit my face asI saw that one of his book fell open and a small parcel fell out. I swiftly retrieved it, before the boy could even bend down, and unwrapped it climactically in front of the class. There was a small cluster of pungent smelling green herbs. I looked curiously at it, then I realised what it was. I rolled it back up.   
  
Forty points, Bartlet. After class, I said calmly, enjoying the fading amusment of the others. Only the Slyherins sat upright, smiling smugly at the others. Woe betide anyone who makes even the slightest rustle, I said menacingly, advancing upon a particularily frightened girl. She shrieked and ducked under the table. I laughed, Frightened, Ms. Clarkson? Perhaps less so if you would be so kind as to teach the class. Now, now, don't be shy. I insist. Just go up and follow the instructions on the board. After all, seven years should certainly be sufficient enough to brew a simple Senencus Potion.   
  
She weakly made her way up to the desk, her head hanging. She slowly began to chop the roots, the blade slipping dangerously from her persperation. She glanced at the board far too many times, hindering her process even more so. Can you not even slice Ditramtirus Root, Ms. Clarkson? I would have thought muggle parents would have invested you in a class about the art of being a housewife, I said sharply. At this, the knife slipped and there was a sudden pooling of blood around one of her fingers. I wrinkled my nose.   
  
Go to Pomfrey, now, I ordered, and she ran, sobbing and bleeding, clutching her injured finger in her robes. I slammed the door after her, surprised even at my own anger.   
  
That is why, you fools, you must learn to position the tools properly, and be able to read instructions when made available, I said quietly. The only sounds were the harsh friction between dulled quill tips and rough parchment. I required no potions to be made that day, my countenance only further spoiled by the stupid girl cuttting herself. Finally, the bell rang, and everyone sat taut, afraid of leaving before I had finished doling punishments out. I nodded, and the group leapt up collectively, and scrambled towards the door.   
  
All, except, for Bartlet. He sat there, his handsome, young face quivering noticeably in the hazy light. I tapped the package which I had lain out in front of him. He gulped.   
  
Tell me, what are the more scientific names of this...primitive herb which you have so graciously been sharing with your friends?, I asked, pushing it towards him. He shook his head, his eyes watering.   
  
Cannabis, Mr. Bartlet? Marijuana? Hashish?, I continued, watching his face contort in fear, no? Not familiar? Perhaps they should be if you insist upon bringing such a substance within these walls. He nodded.   
  
But, I know that smoking this...disgustingly organic substance would be quite difficult to conceal from both your classmates, as well as the numerous ghosts and certain Mrs. Norris' that wander the halls, no? Well, then explain to me what you planned to do with it, I said, slapping my palm on the desk, making him jump back and collide with other wood behind him. He winced, and muttered something inaudbile.   
  
Do speak up, Bartlet. It would be a shame for the stuff to wreak havoc on your already considerably weak brain, I said in my most velveltly dangerous voice. I wanted to brew a potion with it, he said again, turning red. His fear was slowly being distilled into anger, and he was hotblooded by the looks of it. A potion?, I asked curiously, an eyebrow patently raised. He nodded.   
  
What kind of potion would this be?.   
  
An...er...a..dream potion, he said, shameful. Right. So, I've caught you redhanded with quite a lot of cannabis, enough to get you expelled, and now you wanted to break into my stores and steal more ingredients to make a potion you've obviously lied about?, I snarled, nearly shredding the package between my fingers. I'm sorry professor, he muttered, almost as angry as I was.   
  
Go to Dumbledore. I've alerted Minerva. I expect to see your bags packed by tonight, I said calmly, and pointed towards the door. He gave me such an imploring glance, I might have been tempted to take back what I had said, but I was still furious about the fact he was planning to break into my stores.   
  
He stopped before he exited, but turned around slowly, as if he had forgotten something. You know what, Snape?, he asked, and I rolled my eyes, expecting to be bomboarded by a maudlin explication of why everyone hated me. It had happened before. You don't deserve Granger, he finished triumphantly, his eyes gleaming in an utterly un-Gryfindor manner. I must have been quite startled, for it showed. He laughed and stood there, his handsome face glowing sinsisterly beneath the light. If Draco Malfoy had brown hair, he would have looked like this boy.   
  
Out of my dungeons. If you're quick, perhaps I won't disclose to your father about your own indiscretions with fourth years, I said, smoothly as silk.   
  
But even the most reslilient silk can be unfurled by a cruel twist of blade.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Snape getting progressively nastier, eh? I thought it would be funny to have someone in Hogwarts sneak pot in, just to see what would happen. And, besides, in a school with few adults and many horny teenagers, there's bound to be more than a little sex going on, right? r/r. You guys haven't been!  
  



	18. Crown of Thorns

A/N: SOME SLASH REFERENCES! FAIR WARNING= FAIR GAME! Anyway, this chapter is kinda fucked up (scuse my french) and some other parts ended up getting pasted. I have no idea what the final prodcut will look like, so if its screwy, bear with me.   
  
  
  
  
I pushed my way through the hall, defeatedly trying to steel myself against the joyful shouts and insults ringing through these halls. It was odd how I could never place myself among them, these careless children. I wondered how long my mother had stared at me in morose fascination with the abomination she had borne. Not for long, anyhow. She had died before my time.   
  
A familar, light tap at my shoulder and Remus Lupin stood there, looking at me in an oddly brotherly manner. What do you want, I said in a voice that was clearly not a question. He shrugged,and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking in a jaunty fashion beside my stiff, formidable gait. You always want something, Lupin. You never pester without purpose.   
  
He laughed, his face gaily lit by an unknown spark only he and James Potter seemed to posess. He patted my shoulder almost affectionately, You never change. With change comes disturbance. I'm not one for change, I said wearily, trying to shrug him off. He suddenly caught my by my elbow, and steered me quite hard in an altogether different direction.   
  
We walked silently down an empty corridoor, and from the looks of it, one that had been long out of use. Lupin, remove your hands at once or I'll cast an Unforgivable on you, I said, my voice and mood at their most lethal. He stopped, and dropped his hand from my arm. I shook it off, and proceeded to brush my robes off in an insulted manner.   
  
Why, exactly, have you dragged me down this godforsaken place? If you're going to kill me, at least do it in a less dingy place, I remarked arrogantly. He snorted, Far from that, old friend. I've something much more discomforting. A personal question to ask.   
  
I glared at him, heart sinking at what I knew he was going to ask me. Why are you trying to hurt Hermione?, he asked, his mild voice colored by very, very repressed rage. , I almost shouted, shocked, where in the bloody hell did you get that idea? I'm not trying to hurt her, Lupin, and I can hardly see that it's any of your concern.   
  
He looked even more tense, Than why is she always so weepy? Especially after she's been seen around with you?. I swallowed to fill the silence. I had no idea how to answer his question in a less than blunt manner. Granger and I have our differences, nothing is going to change that. Yes, I have been exceptionally rude to her, but we've....we've both mutually agreed that the past is in the past. I don't know why the silly woman is weeping. She's always weeping, snithering, snivelling, crying over something, I snapped.   
  
How long have you had feelings for her?, Lupin said calmly, as if he were entirely unaware of the speech I had just made. I slumped against a wall, suddenly, deliriously tired. Bone tired, if you will.   
  
I rubbed my temples, not knowing where to begin. When I saw her shortly after she graduated, I said quietly, more to myself than him, walking in Diagon Alley, not flanked by the two cretins. She looked...more confident, sure of herself. Womanly? Almost angelic, but a bit off. She's not beautiful, but she's fierce. There's something that smoulders there. When she came back...oh, I don't know, Lupin. A while, I finished lamely.   
  
He nodded thoughtfully, pacing round the floor. I watched him cautiously, afraid he might pounce. And James?, he asked, and I reddened. Ah, yes, our man James. I did love James, you fool. For years. Who wouldn't? Beautiful, charming, intelligent. You could say he nearly charmed the pants off me. It wasn't only women he had a way with, I said bitterly, feeling bile rise with each word spoke. James wasn't..., Lupin said raggedly, looking at me with horror and terror.   
  
Homosexual? No. Experimental, yes. Of course you knew about the way I felt of him. Perhaps you never knew the feeling were reciprocated to an extent. I was stupid and foolish. It was the last time I was ever reckless with my heart, I finished. Lupin looked nauseous.   
  
Good gods, don't tell me you didn't know. Potter was a prying git. He loved to see both sides of the equation, I said cruelly. And you're willing to hurt Hermione just for some stupid grudge?, Lupin asked, his eyes wide as those of a witnessing child. I'm not going to hurt her. She requested my presence tonight, if I mean it. I'm not going to appear. Better than to publicly shame her, I whispered, wondering if I would have the strength of will to do it.   
  
You won't go through with it, Lupin said suddenly, staring at me in a distant way, the last minute you'll change your mind, that's when you'll go. It's addictive, isn't it, lust? I saw you in the corridoor last night. You looked far from uninvolved. I scowled at him, knowing full well that what he said was true.   
  
Go to hell, Lupin, I muttered angrily. He rose and began to walk down the hall. I followed sullenly. Don't intentionally hurt her, Severus. That wouldn't be fair, he said in an infuriatingly astute voice.   
  
As soon as we had reached familiar ground, I billowed off in another direction, wanting to be by myself, sort out my emotions, trying to figure whether or not the thirty years of solitude had been wasted all along.   
  
I ran to the library, feeling aged as my knee joints creaked. Pince looked up sternly, but immediately became much more good humoured when shen saw it was me. , she said pleasantly, and I nodded curtly. I walked straight into the restricted section, pulling out the exact book I desired. I sat down on the floor, wincing at the contact of the cold marble.   
  
Gods know how long I pored over the damned thing, trying to concentrate, yet ponder things in the same instant. I suddenly felt two cool hands press themselves over my eyes. I yelped and rose unsteadily, pushing whoever it was into the wall. I opened my eyes, blinking back memories of darker times.Hermione Granger stood there, looking halfway amused and terrrified and wholly apologetic.   
  
I'm sorry, she whispered, her hands dropping to her sides. Do not play games, Miss Granger, I said coldly, shoving her out of the way. It took all the strength in me not to inhale her. She gave me an annoyed glance, then sat down. She grabbed one of my hands eagerly, and motioned for me to sit beside her. I complied stiffly, crossing my legs, trying to keep contact with her at a minimum. She ran her fingers over the title of the book, and gave a small titter of laughter.   
  
Something amusing, Granger?, I asked mildly, wondering if she had gone slightly insane. She rested her chin thoughtfully in her hands, I remember in second year, when Lockhart was still teaching here (a very caustic snort made by me) and Harry, Ron and I wanted to take a book from the restricted section. He signed the form, of course, thinking it was for an autograph. We made the bloody potion in Myrtle's bathroom, over a miserable, sodding toilet. I think it took a month, and the effects were certainly less time consuming. I had an inkling that her unfortunate week spent in Pomfrey's infirmary had a great deal to do with the potion that she, Potter and Weasley had illictly produced.   
  
And you required Most Potente Potions to make this?, I asked, tapping the cover. She nodded, and ran her hand over it again, lightly brushing mine. Her skin was dry and hot. I closed my eyes, wishing she would leave and cause me no further distractions. A curl came unfurled from her considerably sized chignon. I inadvertantly reached up and ran it through my hands, enjoying the soft feeling of her tresses.   
  
She gave me another pensive look before leaning in and kissing me. I closed my eyes, not opening my lips, not willingly granting her entrance. She pressed herself up against me, and I felt her soft form beneath her layered robes. I stiffened, and pushed her off. Not here, I whispered sharply, and her eyes flew open. She shrugged indifferently, and opened the book again. Tonight then, she said quietly, still staring intently at the page, .  
  



	19. Gamine's Game

  
I felt an odd tightness in my chest as she said this. I gave her no answer, only sighing sadly, realizing that if I came for peace in the library, I would not find it. I swept out the caged hallway, feeling her hot eyes still staring after me. Perhaps she felt as much of a hungry need as I. Or, perhaps more fearfully, she did not.   
  
Either way, she was much too tempting, a delicious morsel I was positively forbidden from touching. I walked morosely down the corridor, feeling much more depressed than normal. Even Filch gave me an odd look, with his ridiculously oversized cat winding itself around his heels. Everything all right, Professor?, he asked nervously, twisting his greasy chin hairs between his stained fingers. I made a face at the cat before I replied, There was a giant spill in the Gryindor corridor. Anyone seen loitering, immediately take 10 points off, with my permission. His ugly face lit up in a malicious parody of glee. He trotted, in his bandy legged way, down the hall.   
  
I sighed, rubbing my forehead. This school was becoming too much, with its crowd control and lusty teachers. I realized it was time to lunch, and the last thing I felt like doing was watching Granger sit there, and eat her food in an extraordinarily sordid manner. Why, at the last meal, she was running her long, pale fingers up and down her knife, while speaking quite candidly to Lupin. It made sweat bead upon my forehead, quite a feat considering I'm constantly cold.   
  
The teacher's table seemed even more unreachable than ever, and wading my way through hordes of children is not exactly an appetite enhancer. Dumbledore patted the place next to mine, and for once, I was relieved to see that someone was glad to see my presence. His grandfatherly smile was suspiciously wide tonight, though his saucer-esque eyes were completely devoid of guilt. He greeted me amiably, further solidifying my suspicion that he knew more than he would divulge.   
  
I had always found it hard to become angry at the old man. He was too jolly, too welcoming. Too warm, too genuine. He reminded me of what my grandfather should have been like, instead of the rigid old goat that I had been served with. I knew of Dumbledore's inherent strength, and his ability to summon it when needed. His steely resolve to battle all evils was the strongest I had seen yet, and the great look of triumph on his face when Voldemort cowered at his feet was somewhere in the ranks of enlightening. If there was someone that embodied pure good, in its most potent form, Dumbledore was surely it.   
  
I sat gratefully beside him, ignoring the glances that both Lupin and Granger insisted on sending me. Things are better, Severus?, Albus asked, leaning towards me on the pretense of reaching for biscuits. Fine. Has my behavior proved otherwise?, I asked tightly, making sure that my voice was steady enough. You seem less sober than usual, he replied, an amused glint to his expression. Really? Perhaps my students will disagree. Speaking of, have you not yet expelled Bartlet or at least suspended him?, I said quickly, changing the subject. Dumbledore sat back in his chair, surveying the children with an air of a man who has been granted his every request in life.   
  
It was harmless, Severus. The potion would have proved a fluke at any rate, he said. He was still planning on breaking into my stores and wasting both my ingredients and time, I snapped. Granger glanced up at the severity of my tone, and watched my face carefully.   
  
I hardly think it would be worth an expulsion, she said nervously, her eyes dancing wildly between both Dumbledore's face and my own. I turned to her, my expression withering, Please, Professor. I hardly have time for your useless, socially motivated input. She looked slapped for a minute, but colored and turned away, spending the rest of dinner obstinately flirting with Lupin. I rolled my eyes, and resumed my conversation.   
  
It was an illegal substance, even in the muggle world, I protested. Dumbledore raised his hand, signaling no more arguments. I forced back a tirade of petty debates and comments. I have dealt with it as I see fit, Severus. The matter is exhausted, the finality in his tone absolutely immovable. I sat back in my seat, almost sulkily. I became even more ill tempered when I saw Granger give a very satisfied glance in my direction.   
  
Dinner was over, and I survived with only replying with grunts and gestures. No one seemed particularly put off, I suppose they were all used to my being an ass. The only person who seemed distressed was Lupin, who, at every opportunity, shot my an annoyingly concerned peek. I had the childish urge to make a hideous face, until I remembered how hideous I already was.   
  
I shuffled through the corridor, languidly deducting points, until there was no one left to bully. My shoulder's sagged. Today had felt endless; each period longer, more dull than the last, and my hopes that my future was placed securely in the hands of our youth was even more quickly dwindling.   
  
I was on my way back to my chambers, when I realized someone was standing in front of me. I couldn't see them, even though the torches were lit. My eyes were starting to water in the darkness and also from trying to grade papers in a subterranean office. Someone was breathing beside me, there breaths quicker and more feverish than mine. There was also an unmistakable odor of excitement.   
  
Who's there, I demanded, clawing wildly at the air. Suddenly, Hermione Granger materialized in front of me, red cheeked and bright eyed. I almost hexed her in shock, for I had thought myself mad.   
  
She put a finger to her lips, signaling my silence. Because I was so disoriented, I obeyed. She smiled nervously, and beckoned me to come towards her. I crossed my arms, extremely irritated and puzzled, shaking my head. She rolled her eyes, and I'm assuming placed her hands upon her hips, because I could only see her head. Can you just simply comply, Snape?, she whispered, and reached forward to grab my arm. I uttered a very, very foul curse word as one of her arms emerged from whatever was hiding it. She looked positively stunned, Really, Professor, muggle language doesn't suit you. I had an amusing urge to stick my tongue out at her, but I pressed the thought back.   
  
The invisibility cloak!, I hissed, feeling slightly surprised. After all, I did use the bloody thing in her third year. She nodded in the manner of a teacher pleased with a normally dull witted student. Thought it would be a nice touch, she said, and threw it off her shoulders   
  
If, dear reader, you expected Hermione Granger to be wearing a negligible teddy or some other vulgar nightdress, I'm afraid you shall have to remain disappointed. It would be highly out of character for the woman to be seen in something other than oceans upon oceans of robes. She was wearing perfectly normal muggle jeans and a high necked sweater. On the whole, I preferred her muggle clothes. They seemed to suit her better. I nodded appreciatively and she looked disgustingly reminiscent of a dog being complimented. I wrinkled my nose.   
  
What's wrong?, she asked, her face falling, I thought you would like it. I was debating whether to prance about naked. I gave her a very alarmed look, and she laughed good naturally. Nothing, Miss Granger. The look...accommodates you. Very tasteful. Unlike your other muggle counterparts, I said, rather disparagingly. She gave me a pained smile, and suddenly threw herself up against me.   
  
I staggered beneath the added weight, until I realized that she was giving me an overly enthusiastic embrace. She felt quite nice, a softish, curly haired blanket. And, because my male libido can never be fully repressed, a pair of very fine breasts. I stood there stiffly, not knowing exactly how to return such a blatant display off affection. I reached up and absent mindedly brushed a curl from her face.   
  
She stood on her very tip toes and tried to kiss me, but found she could only reach my nose. I still remained unmoving, trying to see if this little witch was clever enough to find a way to easily kiss me. She frowned and bit her lip, looking like a charming gamine. Should I shrink you?, she asked at length, her wand ready. I shook my head vehemently, Absolutely not. For all I know, Granger, you could shrink me to the size of Longbottom's toad and keep me in your pocket. She threw her head back and revealed her long, white neck. I was sorely tempted, but decided to remain standing for just a while longer.   
  
Not that I wouldn't mind being so close to your ample bosom, I said playfully, running my finger down the seam of her sweater, I've always wondered what you kept beneath those robes. She shivered dramatically, and crouched further into me. The heat she was radiating was very tangible, and she seemed to become ten times more aromatic.   
  
Her arms slowly twined themselves around my waist, and her adept fingers ran themselves up and down my spine. She had a featherlight touch, and it was my turn to shiver. Do stop it, I said, pushing her away, wishing that she didn't know how to push my boundaries so effectively. She laughed throatily, and I could feel the reverberations echoing in my own chest. She pushed herself up again, and I leaned down.   
  
The minute she began kissing me, it was like a frenzied tsunami. All the pent up passions seemed so clearly expressed in a wordless exchange. I wrapped my own arms around her, with one hand tangled carelessly in her hair. Her fingers, far too sinuous for their own good, were caressing, instead of ruthlessly scratching my neck. I relaxed beneath her touch.   
  
We spun around, and I found her backed up against the wall, a very feral expression in her eyes. She kissed me harder, her perfectly sized teeth grazing my lip. I didn't even care, in fact, I encouraged her with a growl. She smiled into my mouth, a delightfully curling of the corners of her mouth. It felt unnervingly beatific.   
  
She reached up and flexed her hands against my chest, and I leaned my head against the wall, bemusedly observing her face.   
  
, she said suddenly, and dropped her hands, giving me a desperately helpless look.   
  
Don't swear, girl. What in the devil is the matter?, I asked, slightly annoyed that this was somewhat of a mood spoiler.   
  
I can't find the sodding buttons.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Heehee. Somewhat of a cliffie, but maybe this time they'll go all the way? Hmm....*strokes beard intently*. You'll have to read to find out! Thought it would be a funny way to end if she couldn't even find the entrance to his superflous robes. *Laughs hysterically* Ok, so maybe it wasn't that funny, but I'm not going to completely spoil it all by indulging everything in one chapter! 


	20. To Die a Little Death

  
I snickered, but not unkindly. She looked at me with a quizzically annoyed expression, but stopped trying to unclasp my robes. Perhaps a hallway is too exhibitionistic?, I asked calmly, trying to madden her with my apparent lack of desire. It worked, for she gave me another knee wrenching kiss, and I was wholly glad that my robes concealed more than my mark.   
  
I grabbed her elbow, hard enough to hurt, but not bruise. I did not intend to leave any lasting marks upon her, romantically or otherwise. I steered her stiffly into my chambers, for a determined stride can cover far more ground than a sulky stomp.   
  
I whispered the password, highly aware of her overly keen ears. The portrait swung gladly, and I ushered her in. She gasped, quite audibly as she viewed my shelves upon shelves of books. I was quite lucky, and granted a turret, so my library can extend far, far, far beyond the other professor's. She held her hands to her face, turning scarlet at the volume of it all.   
  
She turned to me, her eyes shining ecstatically, only in the manner of a small child introduced to a candy store. She ran around, trying to drink each title in, trying to absorb the information through the impenetrable leather.   
  
All of these?, she gasped, nearly tearing with delight. Are mine, I finished curtly, crossing my arms, reviewing her in complacent satisfaction. Here was one with whom I could truly appreciate intellect, passion of reading and obsession of all things academic. I came from behind her, laying one hand upon her hip, resting my chin upon her shoulder, trying to see my own room from the view of an outsider. It still looked the same; I've never had an abundance of imagination.   
  
I gingerly lifted her hair, ogling at the exact symmetry of her neck, and its blazing whiteness. I slowly, languorously, dipped my lips to her, trying to drink whatever ambrosial substance she seemed to emit. My arms circled her waist protectively, and she tipped her head forward granting me further access. I nipped her gently, causing her to jump in surprise. I'll be gentle, I promised, but it sounded cold, even to my jaded ears.   
  
She turned around suddenly, her face pressing against mine. Don't be, she tried to whisper, but resulted in a growl.   
  
I raised an eyebrow, clearly never seeing that Hermione Granger could have an animalistic side.   
  
I'm sick of gentle. I'm sick of being made love to. The delicate flower, the little princess. I'm not going to get bloody broken. Maybe a few mild bruises. The more the better,, she said wildly. I remarked nothing upon this sudden outpouring of suppression.   
  
You want me, Hermione Granger?, I asked, feeling stupidly cheesy. Almost (pardon my cheap muggle wording) like a pimp trying to entice a woman. She nodded desperately, and came towards me, arms outstretched, attempting to undo my buttons.   
  
Reflexively, I grabbed her wrists, holding them cruelly above her head, she looked confused for a moment, then very , very aroused. No. I will not be made a fool of, Miss Granger, understood? You may think you have me quite twisted around one of your lovely fingers, but it is indeed the other way round, I said coldly, watching her nervously struggle against me, I'm doing this of my own free will. Gods know I haven't indulged much in life. This is a consensual agreement. There are no romantic feelings here, this is lust at its most basic.   
  
The sudden oddness in my stomach told me that this was not so. That I so needed this woman in a terribly demeaning, starving way, that it could not be denied that feelings were involved. She pulled down hard, and gave me a very cross look, So that's what you feel, lust?.   
  
I nodded, but swallowed loudly. Then this was pretense, because that's not what I feel. I don't care how much you steel yourself against feelings, Severus Snape, but my own run far deeper than a long lasting erection.   
  
So you are not repulsed by me? You believe your heart can hold some shred of dignified attachment for me?, I asked masochistically, very nervous about my own reaction if she answered negatively.   
  
Instead, she gave me almost a fond look, but then an annoyed nod. I wouldn't be here if I didn't, you arse. I'm not a one night stand kind of girl, if you haven't noticed. And I don't care if you keep insulting me here, trying to get me to leave, because I won't. You may think you're in control of how you feel, but there's a lot more than lust, she finished, ignoring my flustered attempts to interject things.   
  
I suddenly swooped down on her, pressing her into a bookcase, kissing her more fiercely than ever. She raised herself up, grasping either ends of the bookshelves, offering herself up in a very fornicative manner.   
  
My hands found the warm zippers and buttons, and thankfully, I did not struggle. I began to creep up her shirt tentatively, not knowing whether she would stop this slow moving bliss, or urge me to continue.   
  
My answer came in a physical way, for she impatiently slipped her shirt over head, not becoming girlishly abashed, nor disgustingly proud. I could not contain the erection that was surging most painfully against my restrictive trousers. She deftly found her way inside, strong, warm fingers gracefully extracting me. I was having more trouble. Our mouths hardly became unattached, for our communication was solely through eye contact or noise. She wriggled out of the pants, and I sighed with relief. She gave a small laugh in my mouth, and I smiled, my lips curling, only to collide with her own.   
  
Her breasts, full and firm, but not large, were encased by me, and I realized that it was only she who was naked. She didn't seem to realize this, for she wrapped her legs around me, still supporting herself on the shelves. Unfortunately, bookshelves are a very uncomfortable place to try and make love without slipping around or crushing the person beneath you.   
  
She wrapped her arms around me, still covering my mouth in sloppy, but amorous kisses. I grabbed her back, appreciating the smoothness and heat from her skin, and her thankfully flawless rear.   
  
We stumbled collectively, and found that the floor suited us well. I was on top of her quickly, her long legs opened to me, the dark triangle of her womanhood so vulnerably exposed. I trailed my hand along her breast, enjoying the feeling of her stiffening against me. She rolled her head back in the floor, gnashing her hair against it, squashing the delightfully springy curls.   
  
I dipped my head quickly between her breasts, relishing the light taste of lusty sweat, as well as her own natural flavor. She tasted and smelled effusively of orange and rosemary. Wise and youthful, if there is such a thing. She put her hands upon the sides of my face, running her fingers down my jaw bone, and to my neck. She guided me in, and gasped slightly.   
  
Out of practice?, I said dryly, slowly moving within her. She smiled wryly in return, and I kissed her fondly on the nose. As we progressed, I became ruthless, moving faster and faster, ignoring the fact that she might indeed feel pain with my thrusts. She looked so exuberantly orgasmic, so in the throes of complete, oblivious passion, that I had little doubt she was enjoying that as much as I.   
  
We found our rhythm, and as we approached, I clawed at her back, breathing into her neck, giving her timely nips. She threw her head back, offering more of herself to me, and I could not help but marvel at the blatant fearlessness. It was not often that a woman had not recoiled from my touch.   
  
I came without a sound, finding satisfaction in the absolutely fascinating contortions both her body and face made. Her lips, red and swollen from being bitten, were thrown open, and her lightish eyes had become dilated. It was exhilarating, yet frighteningly luring to know that I could bewitch and hold such power.   
  
It was not long before she was fast asleep, exhausted, and evidently quite confused. I had becoming alarmingly attached to her, and worst of all, found myself not wanting to stop.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Ok, ok, they finally did it. I'm sorry if I'm absolutely terrible at writing sex stuff, but it's not like I have much experience to draw from. Anyway, I would luuuurve some reviews. Hope you guys like that one. It might be a few days before I post another, because I've started a new fanfic, but I'll try and be consistent.   
  
  
  



	21. Angel's Faces

  
I awoke to find her stroking my nose, her long fingers running slowly up the rigid and bumpy surface. I had had my own visage broken in quite a few times, and was self conscious. I turned away, feigning sleep, but finding that this intimate contact was bordering on uncomfortable.   
  
She sighed and laid down again, her vast spray of hair upon my chest. I found it hard to breathe, the sheer volume smothering me. I coughed a bit, warning her that she should move. I opened my eyes when she did not catch upon my hint. I was surprised, mildly, to find her fully clothed as I, her jeans and top wrinkled, but otherwise seeming to fare fine.   
  
, she asked, her voice a few octaves lower than the bossily annoying tone she insisted upon using in her classes. I nodded, hoping she couldn't see up my nostril. She must have been thinking the same thing, for she giggled, and allowed me to raise myself. I stared at her, not knowing where to place my feeling. Of course, mutual respect was obvious, and then there was lust, but was this love? Academic admiration went hand in hand with Hermione Granger, but I had never found anyone who was overly fond of her. Too overbearing, too bossy. She knows too much, was another, but I had learned to turn a deaf ear. After all, when I was her age, it was me receiving the brunt of the comments.   
  
She looked oddly impassive, and stretched out, dipping her head into the coverlet. Can I read one of the books?, she asked lightly, her tone faultily disguising the trepidation of the question. Perhaps she, as an intellectual, understood with what great vigilance I guarded my own library. I nodded, still watching her with half closed eyes, not wanting to divulge what a wonderfully smutty state of soreness and pleasure I was bathing in. My limbs were sore, but other parts were soothed. Overall, it was an oddly, and all too rare feeling.   
  
It had been long since I had been with a woman, and often found my own company more gratifying. Women were elusive to me, and I found my acidic remarks and thin patience did not quite agree. I stifled a yawn, admiring the thinness of her waist, and rotund softness of her hips. She was a lovely parcel, physically, but her mind was an emerald. No such bodily riches could compare with a mind such as hers. And I doubt I will ever meet another that could. I would have gladly sworn a life of celibacy to learn as much as she.   
  
She seemed awkward, fiddling with one book, quickly slipping it back into the shelf, then browsing dreamily onto another. She paused, for quite a long time, at the very shelf where we had commenced our amorous activities, and brushed her finger briefly along the ledge, as if trying to discern it as reality or dream.   
  
She turned to me, and made her way slowly back to the bed where I lay, a sultan in my lone harem. I watched her apathetically as possible, trying not to betray the odd surge of lust that stemmed from my gut. She put her finger in her mouth, biting down at the sad nails that were so abused. I leaned forward and roughly tugged her thumb out, annoyed that she was capable of retaining such a childish habit.   
  
Sorry. It's something I do when I don't know the answer, she said apologetically, still looking longingly at her limply hanging hand. I cocked my head, forgoing my plan of being an icicle, The answer of what question, Granger?.   
  
How I feel for you, she said, her eyes shying from mine. I snorted, then flopped back against the bed. , she asked sharply, obviously offended at my indifference. You women. Always trying to unlock to door to every bloody emotion. Trying to analyze every minute detail, attempting to somehow discover men's vulnerable side of their psyche, I drawled, knowing fully how arrogant I sounded.   
  
You said yourself there was a lot more than lust, she accused, putting her hands on her hips, her brown eyes gazing at me with wistful distress. I wished she wouldn't have. It would have made my reply easier; I believe you were the one that intoned that, Granger. I said nothing of the kind. In fact, as I remember, you did nearly all the talking last night.   
  
The color was parched from her face, and her seeming thirst for answers seemed dammed. Her mouth moved wordlessly, only her eyes looked gravely hurt; her inability to speak only spurred me on. I was trying to give myself a reason for shunting this woman from my chambers, for dampening my teenage-esque hormonal rages for her.   
  
I thought that it was more than that, she whispered at last, licking her lips, trying to prevent the dry skin from creating a painful friction.  
  
Sex is never more than what is appears to be; a basic instinct for survival. There is nothing romantic about it. You came here to be treated mercilessly Miss Granger, and as I remember, you were tiring of being treated like the delicate blossom you are, I said dryly.   
  
I never said anything about humiliation, she gasped, obviously this being too much for her. She clutched her throat, as if my words had raped her of her speech.   
  
Ah. But once you have admitted to being submissive, it is simply the dominator's duty to humiliate. To unseat. Look up the word, Granger, or better yet, perhaps you should search in those endless file cabinets in your useless cavity of knowledge, I continued smoothly, but inwardly I was thrashing. My own comments stung me, and I cannot imagine how they felt to be received. To insult Hermione Granger about looks and personality is a given. But to openly launch an attack about her mind is another.   
  
She became unsettlingly calm, folding her arms and lowering her lids. She looked very placid, except for an oddly dark shadow cast upon her face. I could tell she had long outgrown and tamed the habit of collapsing into tears. Amazing how once I believe myself to be getting somewhere with you, to be stupid enough to think that I'm denting your emotional fortress. Maybe to even think that in your wizened, blackened, shriveled heart, something would pulse. Unfortunately, everything seems to be dead within you. Including from the waist down, she said silkily, perfectly imitating my own predatory voice.   
  
I made a small noise that sounded like an angry moan, but I couldn't be sure. I rose from my respective spot, and advanced upon her, making sure to edge her very precisely into a corner. She looked nervous, her eyes darting frantically, looking a fish trapped in its death net. Her skillful use of facial muscles could not obscure her unease around me.   
  
Dead from the waist down, Miss Granger?, I asked, quite silky myself. She gulped, the nodded defiantly, trying to test if the lukewarm waters of bravery would thwart me. It didn't.   
  
I leaned down and swiftly grasped her curls, jerking her head up to me, her wild brown eyes spinning in a dazed expression. I deftly slipped my hand in to her shirt, latching firmly onto her breast and cramming my knee very tightly between her warm thighs. She could not control the small shudders and various whimpers she uttered, though she looked thoroughly disgusted and ashamed by herself.   
  
I left her, gasping, wildly thrashing for more, staggering towards me like a crazed addict. It took quite a bit of self restraint to withhold my own vicious wants.   
  
I will ask you again, Granger, do you want this? And I'm not simply referring to these dalliances.   
  
There was no amusement or emotion. To an unintroduced observer, my tone bordered on bored. I raised an eyebrow at her, redfaced and struggling to rebutton and recollect.   
  
.   
  
She did not falter and there was no internal struggle. She looked at me squarely in the eye, though she flushed brightly as she did so. I could not help but regret my abasing her so.   
  
I'm a bastard. I'm cruel and vicious..., I was going to continue, but she held up her hand tiredly. I've heard it all. I know, she said, I know what you are. I'm aware of how you treated me. But I can't help but be curious to see if there's more than a sociopathic monster to you.   
  
I glared at her, but found my lips uncompromising. It felt as if they were gently rising to create the subtlest slopes of a smile. She looked worried, almost regretful, but as she glanced at me, she smiled also.   
  
She wrapped her hair up in its tight confines, she walked over to me, and put her hand upon my chest. I was still unaccustomed to non-cruel contact by another, and flinched.   
  
We've all got one of these you know. Yours just happens to beat slower, she whispered.   
  
I rolled my eyes, Don't be an ass, Hermione.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know, it's getting a bit fluffy, but it has to get more lighthearted. After all, it's supposed to be humorous and there is way too much darkness. Hope you all enjoy this. Read, and review, if you're arsed to. Any kind appreciated. And thank you, Aries', because my grammar and spelling *are* good. Title from Shakespeare's Hengry VII, Ye may have angel's faces, but heaven know's your hearts'


	22. I Bet You Would, My Friend

  
She gave a very small gasp, and clapped her hand to her mouth. Presumably in delight, for I have no other inkling as to why her eyes were shining in so disconcerting a manner. She circled me slowly, in the same hazy manner as a dance partner assesses their new catch.   
  
, I asked irritably, clearly stating in my tone and exaggerated sigh that this was not a time to be bothered. Especially when I was staving off a particularly strong surge of lust.   
  
Is my name really that horrid?, she asked, wrinkling her nose, her freckled face looking like an oddly charming surface of a sunflower. To some degree. Though I find it not as offensive as others, why?, I said dismissively. , she explained slowly her eyes becoming goading, her circling becoming slightly more frenzied, you've never called me by Hermione before. It's quite a triumph, you know. It's always Granger or Miss Granger, or Professor.   
  
Your parents gave you the name. I happened to use it. For Merlin's sake, girl, don't get ahead of yourself', I replied, quite aware that there was an unbecoming flush rising to my cheeks. I hadn't expected her to become tripped up over so trivial a thing, or for her to find something as meaningless as my uttering her name as such a considerable act of kindness. It gave me harsh insight on how dastardly I had made myself out to be.   
  
She shrugged, but gave me a sordid wink. Damn it, another blush rose in succession. I was halfway between strangling her or straddling her, and I honestly could not say which sounded more appealing.   
  
What would you qualify this as?, she began again, spinning around to inhale the volume of my books. Qualify what? Honestly, child, one would think you were speaking in bloody parallels. Get to the point, I barked, tiring of her incessant tirade of questions. Another twinge in my stomach told me of all the times I had pointedly ignored her brazenly all knowing class in hand, eager face and eyes and always perfect potion.   
  
Don't call me child, she replied fiercely, a very slight glimmer of amusement in her eyes. I raised an eyebrow, I shall call you anything I wish, Miss Granger. She looked outraged at my placidity, and placed her long hands on her hips again. I prepared myself for another filibuster of feminism and male oppression, but it never came. I opened an eye tentatively, hoping she did not have her wand pointed directly between my eyes.   
  
She was much closer to me, and laughing quietly, oddly colored eyes crinkling in amusement. She touched my face almost affectionately, but with palpable reserve. I suppose I cannot blame her, for I doubt even I would have the courage to do so.   
  
You know, I hate you sometimes, she remarked absently, tracing my nose again. I didn't shy away. Why thank you. I'll be sure to add that to my list of the nicest things you've said, I replied dryly, watching her expression as she slid her fingers along my jawbone. She didn't laugh, her eyes switching reflectively on my own, and for the first time, I felt unseated by another's gaze.   
  
I have no idea how I feel, Severus Snape, and you don't help. I'd suppose you would laugh if I told you I felt something akin to.....attachment, fondness, loyalty?, the last syllable was upraised, as if spoken in hope. But you won't say the most base of all the words, I finished flatly, miserable at my own hopefulness.   
  
I never said I didn't love you, she said hotly, both hands firmly around my face like an invitation to a kiss.   
  
Neither did I, was my almost imperceptibly silent return.   
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I know this is short, but I promise to make longer chappies next time. Please R&R , and check out my other story: The Somberful Mirth. Title from Areosmiths Livin' on the Edge'


	23. What Becomes of the BrokenHearted?

Her hands suddenly turned cold upon my skin, and they fell away silently. I didn't look down at her, because I was afraid to; afraid of the awful denial that I had been subjected to so many times before. I sensed she was waiting for a reaction, some kind of allowance.   
  
My eyes flickered downwards at her, only to meet the top of her head. I was surprised, after all, I had felt her gaze upon my face. Suddenly, a hot wetness sprang through my robes, where she had burrowed her face, and I realised she was weeping, very quietly, though not very subtley. I awkwardly formed a ring around her with my arms, somewhat frightened to put my skin directly onto hers. She stood there, shakily crying, and most likely snotting into my clothes, while I stood like an idiot, pantomining what a comforting lover was supposed to be doing.   
  
I coughed, trying to do so in a roundabout fashion and not disturb her, but she lifted her head. Her face was swollen, and her eyes red, her hair tangled and knotted beyond human help and her lips were already puffy from being bitten. But she looked like some glorious relief upon one of the Hogwarts hallways. I smiled, but my face ached. Smiles were something of a rarity for me.   
  
You just said you loved..., she whispered, sliding her hands very switfly around the nape of my neck, trapping me from my escape. I found that verbal ability was diminished, so I nodded. She couldn't contain her squeal, nor her shock. I gave her a sharp look, but she ignored it.   
You mean it, she began again, her elation suddenly sliced by the ever sharp knife of reality. I paused, knowing that if I said no, I would be lying. And if I said yes, that I would end up getting hurt. I had never loved a woman without consequence.   
  
I'm afraid so, Granger, I sighed, I'm afraid you'll be branded by my horrid, dark, evil, warlock love forever. She laughed, and wrapped her arms round me again. I suddenly felt suffocated, like the air in the room was being slowly, torturously vacumed out, and that each moment I stayed with her, I would never breathe again.   
  
I stumbled away from her, pushing her arms off of me, ignoring the glance of pain sharp worthy of a Cruciatus Curse. I must go, I gasped, nearly stumbling over my feet, I have to get out of here.   
  
She made no move to stop me, in fact she retreated herself, hugging herself so tightly, her fingers left wide, white stripes in her arms. She was shivering, her teeth chattering, and her eyes tossing wildly about.   
  
That is where I left her, running away, bitter because I was too cowardly to love, and furious at those who had impaired me from ever loving another. I ran, blindly, stupidly, painfully, my shirt and trousers and robes billowing so strongly after me, I felt an inexorable tug to follow their lead. I stopped, dangerously out of breath, in front of Dumbledore's office, the portrait guiltily needling me with its too-intelligent eyes.  
  
I felt something sting on my face, some alien substance. Like a child hunting for delectable snowflakes, I snaked my tongue slowly out, testing, delving into this mystery stuff.   
  
Contrary to belief, human tears are among the most acidic substances secreted by the human body. And they hurt a hell of a lot more when you hadn't used your tear ducts since your father had forbidden you from weakness of any kind. I wiped them away shamefully, knowing I was the last person deserving of any kind of emotion.   
  
A warm hand was placed upon my shoulder, and a glance at the tassled, noisy blue slipper told me it was Dumbledore. I looked up at him, and quickly straightened up, rubbing my hands nonchalantly over my cheeks; he looked away tactfully, pretending to be absorbed in one of the paintings.   
  
I see things have not gone well for you, he intoned gently. If there was a more skilled master of their voice than I, Dumbledore was assuredly it. I felt an instant calm, almost a sedated drowsiness. Come in and discuss this over tea. I find that it does wonders for composure, he said simply. I nodded, grateful that neither students nor Sirius Black had seen me.   
  
Once settled in the damnably comfortable arm chairs, I sipped my scalding tea. The caffeine hit my system like a hex, and all my emotions resurfaced. He must have noticed my discomfort, for he immediately signalled for me to put the cup down.   
  
Why is it that you can never honestly express emotion, he mused, beacon-like eyes raking over my features. I did, I replied hoarsely, only I couldn't the second time round. He nodded sadly, I was afraid of this. Perhaps Miss Granger has been to hasty in her own way?.   
  
I shook my head vehemently, It has nothing to do with her, Albus. I'm not worthy of her time, nor her heart. She has far too good a soul for someone of my past and present indiscretions. He laughed, Severus, you credit yourself too much. You're not half as black as you wish, nor as horrid as you decieve everyon else into thinking. I snorted, I disagree, Albus. I doubt even you know the sordid details of my history.   
  
I am quite aware of them, Severus, he said seriously. I felt a squirming desire to go and hurl myself out the window. Then why am I even allowed in the presence of other humans? Why am I even alive?, I said bitterly. Oh, do not be so hard on yourself. You've done quite enough to redeem your lapse of judgment, he answered.   
  
Granger, by all acounts, should hate me with her heart of hearts. The fact that she doesn't makes this worse, I moaned into my hands. She did hate you, dear boy, when she first arrived, and quite a bit. But, unfortunately for your misanthropic ambitions, you tend to grow on people, he answered sagely. I am beastly to her, I'm ugly, arrogant and the fact that I hate her long standing companions should be enough of a deterrent to keep her within an eighty meter distanc from myself, I snapped. I was tiring of these arguments. I just wanted Hermione Granger to hate me with the same volume as I hated myself.   
  
That is not going to happen, Severus, Albus interrupted my train of thought with an equally disturbing revelation: he could read thoughts. No, I can't read minds, professor, but I am expert at reading facial expression, he finished.   
  
Why can't she just be normal and dislike me along with everyone else?, I said, almost beseechingly. Because, unlike those who are unwise, our Hermione has learnt to look beneath the surface, and to disable your defenses. She seeks the rose, depite the thorns, Dumledore was always putting infuriatingly sentimental parables into his lessons. High time for an allegory, I said sarcastically, but I do believe that thorns have pricked Hermione Granger quite severely this season.   
  
Just take for granted she loves you. Why must you always try to question the most innocent of causes?, he asked, eyes twinkling manically. Because I would hardly call Hermione Granger innocent, I shot back before thinking. Noticing how Albus' grin grew wider, I reddened. Once again, my superflous attempts at thinking before I speak were thwarted.The old man had a way with words.   
  
I am aware that you had an erstwhile attachment to her. And now she reciprocates it, only for you to throw it back in her face. I know how you feel, Severus, you cannot smother emotions forever. Swallowing of one's pride is just required once in a while, he chirped. I made the foulest grimace I could muster.   
  
Go. Tell her. Do what you must. Do not leave her with one toe in the lake, and the other out. Hearts are capricious things, he began again. I muttered a curse which only caused him to offer me a lemon drop. I took it, only because I longed for an excuse to not say anything. It was surpsringly delectable, the tarty sweeetness not drowning my tongue in sugar. I gave it another thoughtful tug of my tongue before cracking it between my teeth.   
  
I rose, cracking my knuckles. It's time for class, I explained. He nodded. If you won't tell her, Severus, then I will grant her permission to terminate her teaching contract and permt her to return to London, he said.   
  
I almost choked on the remaining half of the candy. , I blanched, London? You would let her leave?.   
  
She apparently believes she is of no use, he said humbly, thought I was sure she had said a great deal more than that. Of all the senile, inane, stupid..., I began furiously, but he tapped his watch, I believe you have a class to teach, professor.   
  
I could have honestly hexed him.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Sorry for the delay, but the computer ate my story and refused to regurgitate, so I had to download it from ff.net. Anyway, hoped you liked this one. Kinda brings a climax to the story. 


	24. A Starved Snake

  
  
I sympathise with my classes held that day, for even I had no inkling as to the extent of my fury. I positively bristled when anyone breathed louder than the soft whisperings their cauldrons made whilst simmering over a flame.   
  
London. She was doomed for London, possibly the largest, filthiest, most degrading place that he could have sent her her to, and she was willfully going. I balled my hands in anger, and the students glanced nervously at me. I was unusually silent that class, failing to make snide remarks or breathe over shoulders, so I suppose my repressive quiet was the signaling of a very forceful gale to come.   
  
But I had brought this load upon my own shoulders, and I was determined to bear it. It had been me, after all, who had begrudged her my affections; but at the same time, I had warned the silly woman to take heed of everyone else's warnings and leave when the ocean was calm, for Merlin knows a tiny vessel cannot survive a massive tempest.   
  
I flexed my hands, eyes roaming almost reproachfully over the students struggling to create mixtures more complicated than they could dream of. At the sound of my knuckles cracking, several winced, and I heard the unmistakable tinkle of glass as it came into contact with unforgiving stone.   
  
Class dismissed, I called, not caring who or how they had done it. It was annoying enough to be certain that a particularly large flask of Malandy bile would have to be scraped from my floors, let alone trying to seek out the perpetrator.   
  
No one moved for minutes, unable to bring themselves to heed my uncharacteristically merciful orders. The children (and this was a humorous sight, I admit) were all eyes and ears for once, listening with every tendon and fibre to my words. I rose up in impatience.   
  
Do you fools not understand English? I told you to leave; that is, unless all of you want detention for a week straight and twelve points deducted per student. This caused a scamper and clamor of the likes which I had never seen, each body trying to swarm to the door in the same instant, creating a massive carpet of offensively effusive teenagers.   
  
I bent my head over my desk, and for one very brief second, allowed my composure to shatter and let out a feral, angry cry. Not having control was an issue in itself, but knowing that it would result in one of the arguably finest minds from departing from Hogwarts made this so much worse. I squeezed my temples in a grip I didn't know I was still strong enough for. In that moment, I felt as if I could crush the world between my hands, damn the consequences.   
  
I was acutely aware of another's presence, suddenly, and raised my head. Because of the light pouring in from behind them, I could only see the outline of the head. Unfortunately, it was neither Hermione Granger nor Dumbledore.   
  
Remus Lupin, a man with a muder-inducing habit of popping up where he was least wanted gave me what he must have deemed a thoughtful glance.   
  
Catch you at a bad time, Severus?, he asked lightly, not stepping any further into the dungeons. My mood had soured even more, and my hands itched to come into ruthlessly violent contact with his face.   
  
Take. What. You. Need. And. Get. The. Hell. Out, each syllable felt like someone was driving unadultured acid through my tongue. Cursing is something I resort only when my mettle has been hammered so thin.   
  
Even Lupin, one of the most common men at which my most deadly verbal assaults are aimed, looked taken aback. In fact, he looked positively furious.   
  
You've no right to speak to me like that, Severus. I admit, and freely so, that I was almost all the way out of line before, lecturing you on how to conduct your personal life. Hermione Granger is a delicate and rare kind of woman, Snape, and although I see none of what she must envision in you, I will not permit you to go stomping on her heart, he hissed in a tone venomous enough to match my own.   
  
I raised an eyebrow, impressed, Lupin, I would have never once believed, in all these fond memories I cherish so dearly of you, that you had either the testosterone nor the courage.   
  
My voice was mechanical and limp to my own ears, for ammunition was nil and my weariness was high. He looked flustered, clearly expecting something far more odious to roll off my well practiced tongue.  
  
Why are you here, Remus?, I asked again, burrowing my face in my hands, a headache so severe, it made the room pulsate to unheard music. He stepped forward, voluntarily entering my lair of self hate and destruction.   
  
Because Hermione tearfully confessed that's she's leaving for muggle London when this term is over, his voice was prying, and I was determined to see that his lupine snout found none of the bones.   
  
Perhaps, dear colleague, that is between Granger and myself, I responded blandly, picking up my quill and lightly brushing oft' used scathing remarks upon the paper.   
  
Snape, just know that Hermione Granger has many allies, myself included, and it would pain us to see her in anguish over such a prat as you, he said, almost mildly, but with a surge of hot anger. It suddenly occurred to me that he might have a fondness for Granger as well, and besides feeling utterly disgusted at myself for even considering her a pawn in her juvenile masculinity competition, it gave me an oddly warm feeling of dominance.   
  
Don't fool yourself, Lupin. Nothing lay between Granger and myself. It was a momentary, one sided attraction, and unfortunately, she found her ardor couldn't withstand painful memories of myself, nor my wounding tongue. In fact, it's rather a relief she's leaving for London. Perhaps, dear friend, she will gain time to improve upon her social skills, I replied in a deftly cool tone. Lupin looked nauseous, as did I.  
  
A frightened, angry, painfully muffled scream brought both of our attention's to the door. Granger stood there, looking stricken, blighted, and absolutely lurid with rage. Her jaw unclenched, and a scream of such uncouth fury spilled forth, I had an inkling as to what Odysseus had heard when his beloved sea sirens had undergone their transformation.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Oooooh! I know Snape is suuuch a syphilitic bastard, but I'm desperately trying to keep this from becoming meaningless, stupid fluff. Anyway, I would say that Lupin is OOC, but he's very hard to grasp, even when reading the real books. Hoped you liked. Responses appreciated. 


	25. One Week Notice

  
I felt the blood drain from my presumptive façade. A mask was applied evenly over my features, and I smiled at her in a very calculated, manufactured way.   
  
Her expression of complete fury also vanished, and she placed her hands upon her hips, threw her head back, and started laughing. It sounded like genuine laughter, burbling and throaty; very few things have the ability to do this, but her laugh, in all its sincerity, frightened me.   
  
I tried to form my features into a disapproving glance, but it seems I had lost control over my face. Instead, I felt my eyes widen and my mouth open slightly. I glanced over Lupin very quickly, and found he was doing the same.   
  
Granger kept laughing like that for minutes, but to me it felt like millennia. It was painful and grating to hear her cackle, her vocal chords rubbed raw from her previously feral cry.   
  
Professor Granger, I snapped suddenly, and her head was thrown forward, a lank puppet; unfortunately, I knew not who was pulling the strings. She gave me an indifferent stare, and Lupin a warm smile. My face betrayed nothing, but I felt my heart give two angrily successive beats. Beneath my robes, my fists were balled.   
  
Professor Lupin, Snape, she said amiably, stepping forward, how are you both?. Lupin gave her a reckoning look, his eyes raking for something amiss. If I had walked in one minute later, one minute after her dreadful scream, perhaps I would not have known something was terribly wrong either.   
  
Granger, what in the bloody hell is wrong? You were laughing like a drunken Hagrid but a few minutes ago, I began, but Lupin, who ignored all personal boundaries, put his hand upon my arm. He stepped forward, and threw a thin, unmuscled arm upon her shoulders.   
  
Hermione, what's wrong?, he asked, overly affectionate. She quickly ducked from beneath him, and I felt inappropriate gloat pushing furiously against my tongue to escape.   
  
  
What's wrong, Remus, is that I got a bit ahead of myself, she answered calmly, patting her hair and smoothing her robes, I found, once again, that my heart has a tendency to run rampant with anyone who shows the least bit of affection towards me. Oh, don't look so horrified, it's happened before, and I have recovered, and I suppose this was another lapse in judgment in my part. After all, my mum always said to never trust a man who wears black in bed. The corners of her mouth turned up in an expression of nostalgia. I frowned in distaste.   
  
  
Granger, why not just get it all over with and start trying to injure me now. Go on, little girl, kick me where you might think it hurts most. Scratch my eyes out, claw my face. Break my bloody nose, do what you must. It's unbearable to hear your voice trying to bite back screams, I spurred coldly, sounding indifferent. I gave her a humiliatingly pleading look, but she glanced away, focusing on something in the back of me.   
  
  
Snape, any extraneous physical contact with you nauseates me, she replied; the ice upon the surface slowly melted by her heat. I felt a blow, and nearly staggered, but my knees remained forcibly upright.   
  
Perhaps you should have told me before I had wasted time and energy, I said. There was a slight break in her eyes, something that told me I had scorched a nerve.   
  
, she said quietly, turning to face him, her temptingly curly hair fanning out in my direction, would you be so kind just to leave us for a few minutes. This shouldn't take long, I promise. He nodded agreeably, and swept out the door as best he could in those secondhand robes.   
  
Once the door was closed, she crossed her arms, and turned to me without saying anything. The silence was stifling, but I had always been able to sculpt it into my own weapon. However, when there were two infuriatingly headstrong people present, I found the silence had another master.   
  
Professor Granger, if you please, I have a good deal of work to complete, make this quick and painless as possible, I said nonchalantly. She smiled, showing her teeth. Actually, it was more like she was baring them.   
  
And tell me, Snape, why I would choose to do such a thing, she questioned, after all, was it not your painfully honest comment that I stumbled into. It didn't seem like you were particularly trying to paint me in a more flattering light.   
  
Just tell me what you want, Granger, say anything, I said, holding my hand up to silence her, however, you must answer my question.   
  
Which is, she purred, coming closer. I could smell her hair and soap from my position. I stepped backwards; she was aromatically irresistible.   
  
Why are you leaving, stupid woman? You've everything you want, are able to teach your favorite course, and address me by last name and openly insult me without detention nor house points, I explicated. She smiled sharkily as I made mention of the last point.   
  
Because, professor, and I feel that you have experienced this firsthand, that it is very difficult to work in an openly hostile environment where few are fond, student and teacher alike, she said offhandedly, glancing at her nails. I almost cringed when she said this, my own popularity reduced to a scattering of humans and Gally.   
  
Plenty of people are enamored by you, Granger, don't go deluding yourself to prove points, I replied. She raised her own eyebrow, hands upon hips again.   
  
Is this true, Snape or are you merely trying to rid yourself of me?, she said in a moment of shock.   
  
I don't know, woman, but I can assure you that you are far more well liked than myself, if you need egotistically enhancing truths, I baited. She never took.   
  
Professor, please. I'm tiring of this stupid banter. The fact remains the term ends in one week. I hope that we may only survive each other that long, she finished grimly, giving me a look far too senior for her girlish face.   
  
Granger,please. I had survived you for seven years before this, a week should be one drop in an ocean, I said dismissively.   
  
Yes, but we weren't embroiled in a bloody mess, were we?, she asked, and I must admit she had made a point. I had avoided her cautiously for her student years, largely in part because I had yet to configure my own feelings, and also because I absolutely detested, with an ardent spite, the two hang ups she had insisted wasting her time upon.   
  
Fine, Granger. You are correct. This week would go by much more quickly if you cease to bother me, I snapped, panicking because she was obviously not falling prey to well practiced defenses. She smiled and held out her hand.   
  
Agreed, Snape. I won't interfere with you, and I assume you would not bother tormenting me, she said this too quickly, for my finely tuned ears had detected several notes of distress. I kissed her hand gently, knowing it was the chivalrous thing to do, and my loins gave an entirely inappropriate tug as she shivered underneath my touch.   
  
She started up the steps, long, dismal robes sashaying after her, and my blood began to quicken and rush about my ears, drowning out every other distracting noise besides her breaths, footsteps and voice.  
  
Wait, Granger, I called, and clapped my hand to my throat. My words had a way of forcefully edging themselves out. She turned and smiled faintly; she was as eager to leave as I.   
  
You can't leave, I said stupidly, feeling humiliated for lack of creativity.   
  
And why not?, she asked mildly, sounding annoyingly amused.   
  
, I finished lamely, and scowled at her. Damned the woman who could wind my well controlled tongue into knots.   
  
Because? Snape, is that honestly the best you can do?, she was beginning to sound profusely angry.   
  
If obeisance is what you seek, woman, you'll not find it here, I said crossly, wanting to swoop over her, but found that I was rooted to the spot.   
  
I'll give you seven days to convince me otherwise, was all she replied, before making a dramatic exit worthy of my own trademark stride.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Ah! Finally, an update. So sorry to all those who reviewed. Have been insanely busy! Anyway, will be a while till the next, so I made this one long!   
  
  



	26. Back In Black

  
I began to laugh, almost weep in hysterical gladness and humiliation. The little wench wanted me to grovel at her feet for a week and try to have me make up her ever-changing mind; the worst part was, I was willing to do it.   
  
I could have said no, refused, point blank and seen her wilt. I could have spat in her face for her presumptuousness, I could have even slapped her, pretentious weasel she was. But I did none of these things because, honestly, the thought of her leaving mashed my coherency and my mind into a pulp.   
  
Besides from going about gnashing my teeth in regret, there was a new tirade of problems to face: how, exactly, to win her heart back.   
  
I freely admit that I wasn't exactly charming to her, and that my manners bordered on savage, and my constant disparaging did little to her sense of self worth. But could she not see that I was gifted in the art of ruining another? That I was quickest on my feet when it resulted in injuring someone else? That tearing down egos, pretensions, confidence were all part of my job, let alone my personality? If the girl didn't want to accept me as is, then I was afraid that she would have to go flying into the remainder of her terrible trio's arms.   
  
If I had contained the energy and zeal of the bitterness I felt in her first year, the thought of my trying to go about prostrating myself to Granger would have undoubtedly sickened me. And it still did, for I was muchly used to exerting absolutism on my less fortunate pupils and confidantes.   
  
I bit down upon my nail, wanting to find something to vent frustration, rage, hatred and blissful, contradictory relief. Soon, I found myself gnawing my hands into an unattractive frenzy, ready to tear out my hair, strand by strand.   
  
A shadow was cast upon the floor, and I hoped fervently, for the unfortunate intruder's sake, that it was not a student.  
  
I should have known better, for Dumbledore came in looking vexed in a very sated way, if there is such a thing.   
  
, was my intonation, for I had no wish to converse with the most infuriatingly equivocal person ever dropped upon this earth. I was expecting amusement, but instead I found sympathy in his features.   
  
Oh, Severus, I am afraid that the first dollop of pride swallowed is most assuredly the hardest, he said mournfully, coming over to give me a grand fatherly pat upon my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off, but I had the overwhelming feeling he would merely prop it there again.   
  
Are you always such a cheerful sadist?, I snapped, removing my finger from my mouth. It was a very un-Snapeish thing to do. He chuckled quietly, thinking that humor was not what I was trying to serve him with.   
  
Flexibility is key, professor. It's something, unfortunately, you were not endowed with, he sighed. I rolled my eyes, and pointedly tapped my foot in the direction of the door.   
  
Well...I don't even understand the bloody point if she's leaving for the term anyway, I blurted angrily, wanting to incite more than a melancholy reaction from Dumbledore.   
  
Don't ever say that! You strike me as very stunted for an extremely intelligent man, Severus. You may as well speak of why bother living if you can't have all the gold in Gringotts, Dumbledore replied, still furiously calm, but with something unsettlingly malicious glittering behind his glasses.   
  
I shrugged, My point, Dumbledore, is the girl obviously wants me to perform some life changing feat or something in seven days or do something heroic, like slay one of Charlie Weasley's dragons for her. I have no idea what sickly romantic ideas brew in her head, but I am quite sure that I am capable of none. I'm a potions master, not a bloody saint.   
  
There is no miracle in kindness, Dumbledore said quietly, and began to twiddle his thumbs in such a distractingly giddy manner, that what was said was lost on me.   
  
Wait....oh, for Merlin's bloody sake, stop that! What about kindness?, I barked. He looked up and gave a remarkably childlike smile.   
  
Kindness, Severus, a bit of kindness would not kill either of you. A comment that is neither hurtful nor at her expense, perhaps a clue that you actually do take some form of joy from her companionship, he said timidly.   
  
Because I am not particularly fond of deceit, however ironic it may sound, I said nothing. But because pridefulness is also something that comes shackled with my personality, I did not hang my head.   
  
If Granger is so thick that she cannot perceive that I indeed enjoy her company, well....then...I cannot help her, I blustered.   
  
You are an entirely impossible man to read, Professor, I myself sometimes wonder at you, Dumbledore replied, looking at me over his spectacles.   
  
Yes, yes and what of it? Perhaps I do not wish to be read like an open bloody book. Perhaps my secrets are not things which I wish to be painted around the school, I said angrily, twisting my robes between my fingers.  
  
I am not saying to go round and divulge your secrets, Severus. Treat her as an equal, not a child, he said calmly.   
  
This answer not only silenced me, it sent such a wave of guilt over me that I failed to respond. Obviously, he had taken this as a sign of resignation, for he left my chambers, a rainbow spectrum of silvery blue.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Oh my gods! I have just seen the new Harry Potter, and I insist that everyone must immediately stampede to go and witness this miracle. Alan Rickman is delectable, as is Jason Isaacs who portrays Lucius Malfoy. But back to Rickman, the man was born in black, ne c'est pas? He is spitting, scowling, glowering and oh-so-godly Severus Snape. He plays him to a tee, and he is certainly much more subtle than the first movie, and his mannerisms and makeup and hair are not as silly. Anyways, just to conclude, I cannot imagine a more fitting actor to play the part, and I would certainly kiss the ground both Severus and Rickman walk upon. Title from the famous AC/DC song.   
  
  



	27. Little Shop of Horrors

Note: The chapters got screwed up and am trying to fix them, so bear with me if they're no in order.   
  
  
Smugness painted on Hermione Granger is about as subtle as Gilderoy Lockhart's Valentine's day fiasco. She looked at me in the hall, and though I am sure I find this as improbable as you do, she winked at me. A lascivious, naughty, lewd, wanton and utterly unsuitable wink. But I smiled, you have no idea how surprised I was at myself for smiling back at her, only encouraging her in her wanton antics. I replaced it with a scowl, but not before she could shoot an utterly infuriatingly smug smile at me.   
  
  
  
I stalked around the hallways, wishing that Potter was here so I could deduct points in mere spite. It was always fun to see his deplorably soft features splay themselves in a mixture of rage and hatred that he could do nothing about. Undoubtedly, I was one of the more ardent resident sadists.   
  
  
  
  
Kindness and an open display of affection had never been a strength for myeslf, but always knowing the answer and what to do have. I found myself between a rock and a hard place. Granger had always had rather precarious emotions, and I wanted nothing of her spontaneous bouts of crying and screaming. One angry bellow was enough, two would quite shatter my eardrums.   
  
  
  
And so, I decided to swallow my pride and see fit that a visit to Hagrid was in order.   
  
  
  
  
School grounds at night did nothing to deter me, and I had never found them particularly frightening. The one and only thing that I did find rather ominous was the infamous Whomping Willow, but that is for personal reasons of my own.   
  
  
  
Hagrid's house, or hut rather, was almost amusing in its size. I had never seen such a large nor homely house, though it proved to be rather cozy, once he had let me in.   
  
  
  
  
I knocked on the door, and heard him rustling about. Jus' a minute. Tryin' to get tha blasted kettle off the damn.....Ow!, there was a sputtering and a string of what can only be described as Hagrid-esque curses that were emitted. I cringed at the sound.   
  
  
  
He opened the door, red faced and heaving. Oh, Professor!, his eyebrows rose to meet his equally bushy hair. I weren't expectin' no company. Come in, come in. Some tea?, he shoved the proferred oily black mass of indeterminate constituents beneath my nose. I shook my head, trying to contain my nausea. One of the more unfortunate traits of a potions master is a nose sensitivity that rivals that of a dog's.   
  
  
  
So. What brings you in the dead o' night like this?, I found that Hagrid's eyes had the same infuriating twinkle that Dumbledore's sometimes possesed. Others found it charming and wise, I found it rather demonic.   
  
  
  
You've known Hermione Granger since....well, since she first arrived, correct?, I asked, uncomfortable where this conversation could have lead. He nodded, and took an impossibly large and hard looking cookie from the cauldron beside him.   
  
  
  
Biscuit? Baked em fresh, I tried not to wince as I heard his teeth audibly cracking against the obviously stone fare.   
  
  
  
Can you give me insight as to...well, what kind of things she finds romantic? Enjoyable?, I almost blushed at this one, realising how stupid I must have sounded. To my immense relief, Hagrid's perceptions were a lot more sensitive than his teeth, for he made no mention of my blatant problem.   
  
  
  
  
Well, from what I recall, my Hermione's always been a sensitive girl. Can't help it, you know. People always teasin' her about her muggle parents, bushy hair, large teeth (this inevitably reminded me of the time I had also cruelly remarked upon them as well) and whatnot. She's a big thinker, not a chaser of boys, so if you find her awkward, well, it's cause she don't have a lot of experience, he finished sagely.   
  
  
  
Well, that's the thing. I don't find her awkward. I find her entirely too suave and smooth for my liking. She's become......an adult, I finished lamely. Hagrid could not hide his earth shaking chuckle in the mass of food he had decided to cram into his mouth. I ignored this and continued, See, Hagrid, she's given me an ultimatum. I have a week to prove what she's worth to me.  
  
  
  
Even he looked shocked, Well, I'm glad to see Hermione puttin' her foot in the ground instead o' her mouth. No offense to you or anything, Professor. First, let's just get this cleared. You love her, don't you?.   
  
  
  
I suddenly found that Hagrid's hut had become far more interesting as the conversation coasted into dangerously personal territory. I gave a surly shrug.   
  
  
Oh! Yeh do! You lurve her!, Hagrid was practically squealing in delight. I sank into the nearest chair, hoping the cushion would devour me in my present state of shame.   
  
  
  
So? What do I do now? I can't just go and bloody give her flowers, can I?, the note at the end lilted into desperation, and something akin to malicious brilliance started up in Hagrid's eyes.   
  
  
  
There are some interestin' plants round here, Professor. I was just thinkin' about sendin' my Maxine some..., he began to reminisce. I scowled.   
  
  
  
Oh? What kinds? And what good would they do me? They're just sodding floweres, I said, rather haughtily. He started up.   
  
  
  
Oh, but Professor, I've kept these grounds for longer than you remember, probably. I know every kind o' plant life that grows within six miles o' this castle. There are some very potent akrideziacs that sprouted up a couple o' years ago, he said, keeping his tone purposefully lowered.   
  
  
  
  
Aphrodesiacs, Hagrid. And, speaking of that, do you even know what they are?, I asked irritably. This conversation was not exactly heading in the direction I had hoped.   
  
  
  
Of course I do! Ruddy lover's weed is what it's best known for. Most powerful in the land. Not to mention incredible orchids and roses that bloom round here too, he finished thoughtfully, trying to tug on his beard, but only managing to get his fingers tangled.   
  
  
  
Does Hermione even like flowers?, I asked warily. She didn't strike me as the Flourish and Blotts Hallmark Cards type.   
  
  
  
She appreciated em when Lockhart sent her a bunch in the hospital, said Hagrid craftily. I blanched. And people believed Hermione to be out of her wits when she became involved with me!   
  
  
  
Please do not tell me that Hermione was smitten with the snarky, smarmy, cosmetic infused, bewiggéd git that was Lockhart, I began furiously. Hagrid nodded, munching another rock..er..biscuit.   
  
  
  
Sure was. All the girls were. Especially in Slytherin house, he added slyly, familiar gleam in his eye. I snorted.   
  
  
So. Hermione appreciates flowers?, I began again. Hagrid nodded.   
  
  
Course, she never saw any outright magical ones. Only the silly trick ones that Dumbledore sometimes puts up round the holidays. These I doubt even you've seen, he finished cryptically. I didn't fall for it.  
  
  
And these insanely pretty flowers, how do we obtain them?, I asked, diving straight for the point. Hagrid looked uncomfortable.   
  
  
Er...actually, on second thought, how about you just bake her a nice cake?, he asked, finding his own hut more fascinating than my needling stare.   
  
  
Where do we find them, Hagrid?, I asked softly, using my most buttery voice.   
  
  
Well....they can be found in caves and such. But we might hafta go and ask the faeries, he admitted finally. Again, I blanched.   
  
  
Hagrid, there are no faeries around Hogwarts. And Dumbledore expressly forbid their presence in the Forbidden Forest, I said carefully.   
  
  
  
Yeah, but they had nowhere else to go! They was gettin' expelled from their own hollows and nests, and they had to come somewhere!, he cried, springing up and spilling the biscuits and tea all over the place. His impossibly large dog began to drool equally impossible amounts of gooey slobber everywhere. It came nosing towards me, and I clambered onto the seat, not wishing to be courted by a hateful looking beast.   
  
  
  
Your dog, Hagrid, the threat in my voice was unmistakable, and he snapped out of his mournful reverie. He whistled shrilly, nearly taking of the roof with the sound, and the dog turned away from me, leaving with a not so appetizing view of its rear end.   
  
  
About these faeries. Why do we have to go to them? I thought you said they could grow in caves, I started up our previously interrupted conversation.   
  
  
Well, they can. But the ruddy gnomes kept gettin' to em and rippin' up the roots. Those are the dangerous gnomes, those are. Some get to be the size of Neville Longbottom, he said. I shuddered.  
  
  
Please instill courage, not wither it, I snapped. Hagrid shrugged apologetically. Do they have any other magical properties besides being outstandingly beautiful?, I asked irritably. I wasn't going to go about wading in dark in the Forbidden Forest for a few weeds.   
  
  
No time like the present, is there Professor?, Hagrid asked suddenly, swinging his lantren and crossbow over his shoulder with alarming abandon, nearly knocking himself over with his haste. He heaved a pair of extraordinarily large scissors, and placed them securely into his belt.   
  
  
  
Why now Hagrid? Why not tomorrow? In the afternoon? Or before dinner? What about when there's sunlight and slimmer chances of us getting killed? And why are you taking a weapon?, I asked softly. Hagrid put his provisions back down and sighed heavily.  
  
  
  
I knew you was gonna start askin' me ruddy questions. Well, see the thing is Professor...erm...welltheyhaveteethandsometimestheybite , he completed his sentence in a monosyllable and I strained to make out the words.   
  
  
  
, I asked incredulously. Only Hagrid would bother picking carnivorous flowers for a woman he was enamoured with.   
  
  
  
Kinda. Yeh gotta pick em at the right time o' the month. Otherwise...well...it ain't too pretty what they can do to a face, he finished, almost mournfully. If I was eating something, I would have choked.   
  
  
Hagrid. In Merlin's bloody visage, do you honestly think I would go about picking flowers that can do irrepairable damage to Granger's face!, I was nearly shouting. He looked affronted.   
  
  
  
No, yeh silly git. Oh, I mean Professor. They're the most beautiful flowers in the world, it's just that they don' like people much, he protested. I sighed; I knew that once the idea of showing Hermione these flowers was put in his head, he would never be able to forget it.   
  
  
So. Ready?, he asked, rubbing his hands together. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot in a very, very menacing way. Then, of course because Hagrid _is_ twice my size and could easily snap a leg or two, he just laughed.   
  
  
  
Oh, and Professor, yeh might want to take this with you. Just in case, he handed me a long sheath filled with the most deadly looking arrows imaginable. Wordlessly, as if reading my mind, he placed a huge, wooden bow on my shoulder.   
  
  
If I get harmed during this expedition, be sure to _murder_ Granger for me, will you?, I growled at his retreating back.   
  
  
Don' worry. The worst thing that can happen is that your head'll be swallowed. They don' bother with tearin' or nothin'. They just go for the kill, he said this as if speaking of the accomplishments of his children.   
  
  
Hagrid, in all seriousness, I assure you I will make an extremelyunpleasant ghost, I drawled. He gave me an overview, and nodded in agreement. He proceeded to give me a reassuring pat on the back, but nearly knocked me over in his enthusiasm.   
  
  
  
As we left, what sounded like a stifled thunderbolt was emitted from beneath one of Hagrid's massive, wooly blankets. I took a small peek, and came face to face with the slick, disgusting nostril of his dog.   
  
  
Bloody animal. I'll bet you've never had to do this, I muttered beneath my breath, and slapped the blanket back down.   
  
  
Don't bet on it, was the reply that was a suspiciously human sounding bark.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Oh my goodness, I am so sorry for neglecting my story and readers. Do, do, do forgive me. I've been really busy trying to brew up a change of pace. Anyway, I promise lots of humor and Hagrid antecdotes. Anyways, will be more postings with fewer interruptions. I promise. Thanks to all my wonderfully faithful reviwers and readers! 


	28. Lucky Charms

  
  
I stepped hastily backwards, and quicky exited after Hagrid, not really wanting to find other animals or unpleasantly large beasts that could talk. He was rumbling ahead of me, whistling in what he assumed was a quiet sound, but to the rest of us would perhaps be able to shatter glass.  
  
  
Although I am more often than not annoyed and greatly aggrieved by Hagrid, I could never deny him credit for his infinite capacity and willingness to help others. I couldn't imagine another man (or giant, as are the whispers) that would allow himself to be jerked, rather rudely, from his rocky slumber and dragged about one of the most dangerous forests in England.   
  
  
But, here he was, swinging his bow in an abominably cheerful manner, cracking his gargantuan knuckles and singing songs too lewd to be put into print.   
  
  
Alright there, Professor? Don' want yeh to go tumblin' down some ruddy hole and gettin' eaten by some o' them spiders, he said casually. I could clearly tell he was joking, but I still took care to glance down at my feet before taking any further steps.   
  
  
Tell me, Hagrid, does Sprout know you're cultivating these things?, I asked his giant fur clad back. He turned around, eyebrows knit with worry.  
  
  
No she don't, and you don't go tellin' her, either, he said warningly.   
  
  
Hagrid, you underestimate me, I chided, not sincerely annoyed or even offended.  
  
  
Well....I know that! I was jus' makin' sure, thas all!, he blustered. If the moon was out that night, I'm sure Hagrid's blush would have been in full crimson glory.  
  
  
Besides trying to avoid these teeth, is there anything else I should know about before we reach the point of no return?, I asked.   
  
  
Well, the faeries can be somewhat nasty to deal with, but they know me, so thas all good (I hope). Erm....yep....thas all, he said in a nervous and shrill voice. Hagrid is a man whose emotions are kept on an extremely fragile leash, and one tug can send the whole bloody thing on the loose.   
  
  
Hagrid, I've been teaching for far too many years now. I'm not easily lied to. You might as well get it out before I discover it and before this whole thing turns into a grevious mess, I said petulantly.   
  
  
He stopped, so swiftly, that it sent me hurtling into his back. For a man of his stature, my impact might have been that of a fly's. He gave an impatient, but nervous sigh, and I knew that a rather huge part of the picture had not yet been unveiled for me.   
  
  
Professor, you understand these flowers are really valuable, right?, he asked me, another tug of his eyebrows. I nodded, ushering him to continue. Well, them faeries aren't stupid. They have somethin' guardin' them. I haven't been down there in a coupla months, so I haven't seen the new thing they've got, he finished. I was not sated.   
  
  
This....well, this faceless being...this would not be something along the lines of that vile dog with three heads?, I asked, a bite in my voice. Fluffy, as Hagrid had mistakenly named it, proved to be a painfully watchful guard.   
  
  
What was wrong with Fluffy?, asked Hagrid indignantly. Obviously his stature had caused his outlook on monstrosities of nature to be somewhat different.   
  
  
Besides the fact it was hideous enough to behold with one head, having three just made it pitiable, I said dourly. The dog had given me quite a scar on my leg, and I was even more annoyed that Hagrid was trying to justify it.   
  
  
It were nice as a puppy, Fluffy was, he said firmly. Hagrid was impossible to argue with when it concerned his menagerie of freaks.   
  
  
So, Professor. About Hermione. How've you and her been gettin' along?, he asked cleverly.   
  
  
I have no clue, Hagrid, it being that I haven't spoken to her for a dreadful two days, I snapped. I actually did feel guilty for avoiding her in the halls and ducking out of her way as if she were some fearsome bully. But, when I remembered her laughing jovially with Remus Lupin, and linking arms with him when she was sure I was watching, I felt victorious as I glanced at the wounded look in her eyes when I shoved her out of my way at dinner and was able to humble her more abrasively self smug comments.   
  
  
Oh. Well, no shame in tryin', is there?, he said, embarrassed by this lack of knowledge. Hermione's a good girl, she is. Always carin' for other people and whatnot, though I've noticed she don't tell me about her personal life no more. Why, when she went to that ruddy ball with Viktor Krum, his name came up near every five minutes, it did!.   
  
  
Ah yes. Our hero, Viktor Krum. I do so hope that she's outgrown the nefarious habit of falling for people whose brains have been addled into bludger pulp, I said viciously, kicking what appeared to be a stone, but upon closer inspection as it scampered away, shrieking indignantly, was actually a stone with legs and one giant eye that blinked woefully at me.   
  
  
Hagrid snorted, though he refrained from clapping me on the back. I agree, Professor. I told Hermione that Krum weren't no good for her. But, first love I s'pose, and she didn't listen. Learned the hard way, she did.   
  
  
It suddenly grew chilly in the forest, the sense of damp fog and biting winds were sinking through my robes. I hastily drew mine closer, and wished for nothing more than a thermos of hot tea.   
  
  
Well, jus' a few more miles to go, said Hagrid thoughtfully, peering over the tops of the small hills over which we stumbled.   
  
  
A few miles, Hagrid? Dear gods, we're not going to make it until tomorrow, I blanched. My legs were sore from the combined weight of the crossbow and the awkward and crude path which was carved out in front of us.   
  
  
Oh, Professor, it's just a few miles! Six, at most. Anyways, you're having a good time, right?, his question actually held a tone of genuine concern, and I felt the compulsion to pacify him.   
  
  
Yes, Hagrid, a splendid time, I replied sullenly. I shifted the bow over, the strings harping me on my back, and probably tearing through my robes.   
  
  
There was an odd sound, a muffled rushing of what sounded like hooves. We both stopped simultaneously, and I gripped the crossbow with silly tenacity. Hagrid eased his own off his back, and lifted the lantren over his head. It sent out a beam of scattered light, illuminating thing I would have rather not seen.   
  
  
And pray tell me what that was, Hagrid, I asked sarcastically.  
  
  
I duno, honestly. Maybe it was Rex and his minions. Oh well, we'll have off , then, Hagrid shrugged, and brought the lantren back down. I, however, was not so reassured.   
  
  
Are there Centuars in this part of the forest?, I asked. I had never taken a liking to the creatures, finding the silly and avoidant stargazers would rather have their legs broken off then give a straightforward answer.   
  
  
Nah, too much darkness. They don't like travellin' this deep, he said in a low voice.   
  
  
And the spiders?, I was determined to mine out what exactly Hagrid was planning on delving into.   
  
  
They're burrowed away. Generally, Aragog and them don't like harmin' or eatin' no one, unless they're stupid enough to go into the hollow. Other'n that, I duno what's makin' that noise, he mused.   
  
  
There was a sudden and wild thrashing ahead of us, and out of the bushes and clearing, jumped the most ridiculously clad thing I'd ever seen. It stood, most likely not three feet in height, its brillaint blue eyes glaring in glassy annoyance. It had stubby legs that were clothed in finely tailoured boots, with a silver buckle. Its hair was an almost sickening shade of magenta that seemed to illuminate things without the aid of Hagrid's lantren. It had a top hat on, as well as a matching coat with tails.   
  
  
Ay, you there, both of you stop this instant!, the voice was shockingly deep for something that most likely did not reach my knee. Hagrid stopped obediently, but I was not put off by the ugly little house elf.   
  
Aren't all house elves supposed to work up at the main castle?, I   
asked dryly. The thing gave a shriek of offense.  
  
  
Why, how dare you! A house elf, I never. Well, if I am required to tell you what sort of creature I am (fine wizard you are, not even knowing what other magical things besides humans exist). I, good sirs, am a Nor'eastern Leprechaun, the thing was obviously proud of its heritage, for it drew itself up in full height.   
  
  
Hagrid chose this moment to go into a sputter of coughs and sneezes, though I knew he was poorly disguising his laughter. I let out an amused snort. Its face went purple with fury.   
  
  
Are both of ye good sirs laughing at my pedigree?, it shrieked. I noticed that anger and provocation caused its voice to become a high pitched squeak.   
  
  
Well....honestly, we din't know there were more than one type o' leprechaun, Hagrid said haltingly, biting back more laughter. I sniggered into my robes, not wishing this thing further degredation.   
  
  
Perhaps I can show you where our differences lie. I shall challenge on of you to a duel!, it said, gallantly bringing out a tiny wand, perhaps the size of my index finger. I stared at it, not knowing whether to take it in seriousness.   
  
  
A duel? With a quill tip?, I asked, gesticulating towards the thing it grasped in its hand.   
  
  
Absolutely. I am the finest dueler of my family. Three time champion. I know any curse, counter curse and hex, it strutted.   
  
  
I glanced at Hagrid, who was regarding me with amused eyes. I knew that he would most likely proffer me as its dueling partner. I shook my head violently.   
  
  
Well, this one here can. He's a right fine dueler too, Hagrid said, shoving me forward.   
  
  
Hagrid, considering your fondness and considerable kindness towards all the thing that roam this land, I insist you do it. I may actually do harm, I was feigning concern now, and he saw through it.   
  
  
That wouldn't be fair, Professor. I don't have no wand, remember?, he tapped his head. The bandy legged thing hopped up and down in glee, but then regained the somber composure that is assumed by all those who duel with wizardry.   
  
  
Fine. I'll do it. Be forewarned that I am not very merciful, I snapped, stepping into the clearing.   
  
  
We strode up to each other, and concluded the custom and general mannerisms that accompany a proper duel. I could not believe that I was wasting my talents on a nicely dressed house elf.   
  
  
As I raised my wand, preparing to utter _expelliarmus_ in my most indifferent voice, the thing raised its wand and uttered another incantation, which, before I was able to even blink, sent me hurtling off into a tree, and hence, into blackness.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: ahaha...silly diversion tactic....anyways, good for a chuckle. Not particularly deep. 


End file.
